Means to an End
by Musou Misora
Summary: COMPLETE. Harry makes a choice which saves the wizarding world from Voldemort, but are the effects worth the cost? AU as of HBP.
1. In Which Harry Frightens Hermione

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Hermione breathed in the clear air of May's first dawning, its freshness more invigorating to her than tea or coffee. She had told Ron that she would sleep in today, getting in a bit of rest before starting up the NEWT study schedule on Monday.

_Tomorrow,_ she thought. _Sunday should be the day to rest. And what Ron doesn't know won't hurt my ears._

Besides, Harry was up.

Harry was always up, it seemed.

These days, the seventeen-year-old "Boy-Who-Lived" seemed to get by on a modicum of sleep; he practically lived in a caffeine-induced haze, not only studying for his NEWTs but also preparing for the final confrontation everyone was so sure would happen within the next few weeks.

But what Harry was preparing…now _that_ was the million-Galleon question.

Not even Headmaster Dumbledore knew what was going on inside his one time protégé's mind. Harry had had a one-track mind the summer before sixth year: learn Occlumency, and learn it _well_. And he had. Driven by guilt and nearing insanity, the Order had witnessed untold numbers of owls carrying heavy, dark-bound books into the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry had advanced in theory so much that summer it scared _everyone_.

Even the headmaster. Harry's wand movements and reflexes had surpassed what was expected of the most highly-trained Aurors, but when Moody had mentioned that he would practically be a shoe-in for advanced Auror courses, Harry merely shook his head and refused politely.

_"After this,"_ Hermione repeated softly from memory. _"There will be no more fighting for me."_

A small flutter of movement beside her snapped her back to reality. A slight breeze had brushed past her leg, and a shimmer accompanied it.

_It's been nearly two years,_ mused Hermione. _He's bound to get caught up in the moment sooner of later._

So Harry was sneaking around in his cloak, eh? Right in the corridor where the Room was located…she stopped.

"Harry?" she whispered suddenly. "You can't hide from me. Tell me what's going on."

The rustling of invisible cloth and a low chuckle greeted her ears, and she welcomed the almost-forgotten familiarity of the sounds.

"I knew I wouldn't get this one over on you," Harry whispered. "You might as well come in with me, seeing as you want to know and all."

"Ron's been worried as well," she replied. "But if you need this to be kept a secret…"

Her friend nodded curtly. "The less people know the better. I have a feeling what I'm about to do would be considered illegal or the final act of a desperate man. But you're like me—you don't belong in this world any more than I do."

Hermione was extremely confused. "Harry, we're wizards; of course we belong in this world!" Harry's face twisted into a faraway smile.

"You don't understand yet, Hermione, but you will very soon. But enough of this, we have work to do."

The door to the Room of Requirement swung open before them. Harry motioned for her to enter first, and she complied. A gasp escaped her.

The Room was filled with loose bits of parchment, large leather-bound books with ominous, archaic titles, a message board covered with written-over maps of Scotland, and a large blackboard with a series of calculated wand movements scribbled across its expanse. Hermione was flabbergasted…and horrified.

As soon as her friend entered the room, a steaming mug of liquid appeared in his hand. Harry smiled warmly at Hermione and asked, "Would you like something to drink? It's rather cool out tonight."

The young woman shook her head in a confused daze. "Harry…what is all this? You said you'd been studying this whole time."

"But I _have_ been studying," he replied in a wry tone. He moved to stand beside her. "Hermione," he continued more seriously. "I've found a way to end this evil."

She didn't bother to look at him.

"It's very advanced, very dark, and very _illegal_."

Hermione snorted. "As if the world will care, as long as you get rid of that monster once and for all." Harry grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. She shied away from his intense gaze.

"They'll hate me, Hermione," he whispered sharply. "The spell doesn't work right away. It's going to take _time_, and they're going to hate me for it, because they'll have lost everything long before the end comes."

His grip was like iron—she didn't realize he had become this strong. "Why, Harry?" she whimpered in pain. "Why do they have to lose everything?"

"Because the spell must be cast by the school, and the school uses its connection to everything within itself to make it work," he said, loosening his hold on her. "Don't you see, Hermione? Our world will lose its _children_."

"It—it won't kill them, will it?"

A bitter laugh erupted from Harry. "No, everyone will still live. But we can't go back to _living_ until the school is finished with the spell. And that might take _centuries._"

Hermione was frightened by what her friend was saying. "Harry, I…"

A siren sounded. Harry rubbed his forehead gently. "He's here—it's time."

"No, we can't do this…"

"We don't have the luxury of backing out, Hermione!" he lashed out. They could already hear the echoing of spells and angry words through the stones of their beloved Hogwarts. Harry rubbed his scar again. "Good, he's inside the castle. It has to be done _now_."

Hermione backed away from him as he conjured a piece of chalk and drew runes on the floor of the Room. _Time—death—preservation—evil—binds—destruction—salvation_ were the only ones Hermione's paralyzed mind could translate under this pressure. Her best friend was about to throw the lives of everyone in the school away, and _all she could was watch._

Harry was standing now, gazing mournfully at her as if asking her to forgive him when the rest of the world would curse his name for all eternity.

The runes were glowing. They looked as if they had been etched in the floor for years, not seconds.

She was being ejected from the room.

The solid oak door swung closed.

At the last second, she remembered that she could open it again. She ran forward and met solid rock. She beat at it, screaming amidst broken bones and broken heart and broken soul. _Why do I feel like this won't be the end of things? Why do I feel like he's simply prolonging something equally as horrible?_

Her body wouldn't move anymore, and she could sense the same freezing feeling seeping into her mind.

Hermione drifted away into oblivion.

Time stopped for the inhabitants of Hogwarts.

The mourning cries of mothers and fathers throughout wizarding England resounded through time and space. Memory of a society ceased to exist, commerce and craftsmanship halting along with it.

* * *

Two years to the day, a small boy was born to Bill and Fleur Weasley. He was named Ronald Alexander, and became known as the first child born after the Great Loss.

Hogwarts, and most of its illustrious history, was wiped from memory. No formal center of education was built for the young witches and wizards of Britain. For all intensive purposes, life began for the magical community in the year 2000. Time passed, and soon all who remembered the name of Harry Potter were dead and buried.

* * *

End Prologue


	2. In Which We Have History 101

**Means to an End**  
By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

"Now, if you will turn your attention to this next image…"

The enlarged picture shimmered and changed at the front of the lecture hall. It showed a geographical map, a very battered copy at least, and many of the listeners seemed impressed with its condition.

"This map of Scotland dates back to around the year A.D. 2000,two years after the end of what seems to be a great upheaval in wizarding society. One may also note the year as the start of modern historical documentation, after said two year period. While we are still unsure of the real reason behind wizarding England's closed-mouth approach, and why the rest of the world refuses to acknowledge more than a sneeze from that area, we are certain that something rather catastrophic happened which disrupted the economical and social climate.

"It is to be assumed, from the earliest records we have, that this unrest began with a mysterious disappearance of several hundred children and young adults, all enrolled students of one school. None of the writers alludes to a possible reason for the disappearance, simply that it occurred, and the wizarding world literally had to start all over again; it is also to be noted that from this time period to our present society, young wizards and witches have never entered a formal wizarding school, and no movement has been made to create one. Judging from population records dated 1996 the wizarding world had less than half its numbers in the year 2003. You may be asking the question: what does this have to do with a map?"

The speaker paused and turned to give the slide a serious glance. "All my research up to this day has led me to believe that a great wizarding school, located somewhere in Scotland, once produced some of the greatest wizards and witches in all Europe. What little historical records we have from before the catastrophe all mention a large castle, called Hogwarts, where children from ages 11 to 17 went to learn magic; no records from the year 2000 onward mention the school at all.

"My question to you, ladies and gentlemen, is this: _what happened to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, called the greatest out of all magical schools, that our ancestors preferred to forget what had to have been an enormous part of their lives?_"

A great murmuring broke out among the listeners. One deep voice called out from the dark lecture hall.

"What exactly do you propose to do with this question, Doctor?" the man said, a mocking tone creeping into his voice. "If, as you say, the entire student population disappeared along with the school, what end could finding this castle create for us? Surely you don't wish us to fund an expedition to dig up the corpses of children?"

The lecturer turned back to face the crowd. "As archaeologists, we dig up skeletons of children any time a shovel is pushed into the ground," he stated calmly. "Think of the horrors experienced by the populations of Pompeii and Herculaneum. There was a skeleton of a young girl found in the former city, clutching the skeleton of a _baby_. These sorts of things, while relevant to discovering how these people lived and how they died, are no more relevant to the discovery of the cities themselves.

"While the skeletons of the students might be found, should we find the great castle, they will only offer a limited amount of information, provided they have not crumbled to dust already. The bigger find, however, is what the historian Christian Bones describes as a vast library—a copy of every book of magical spells and history ever written was supposedly housed at Hogwarts. _Think_ of the magnitude of information about our past could be revealed to us!"

The man who had voiced his question shook his head. The murmuring started up again, and little by little the crowd inside the hall thinned till there was one woman left.

Dr. Morgan Finnegan sighed heartily. _People today just aren't concerned with the information_, he thought miserably. _Every time I bring this subject up, the part about the children lost erects a wall between me and possible patronage!_

"Dr. Finnegan?"

It was the woman, three rows from the back of the hall. Morgan glanced at her with curiously.

She smiled. "I enjoyed this lecture immensely, doctor. A Finnegan, eh? That's certainly a surname from the old days."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry—Ginevra Weasley, pleased to meet you at last."

Morgan started and dropped several of his files on his feet. Ginevra _Weasley_? The heir to the richest fortune Gringotts had ever housed? Perhaps his luck was changing…he sized her up for a moment.

Miss Weasley was fairly tall (perhaps five feet, eight inches) and had warm brown eyes and long, flowing auburn hair. Underneath the smattering of freckles was found fair, clear skin, and her face held a gentle curve which (he imagined) could light up any room (if the lecture hall was any indication).

Recent newspaper articles placed her in her early thirties, perhaps Morgan's own age at most (he'd just turned 31).

"I'm glad you liked it," he said cordially, nodding at her. "Apparently, you're the only one."

"I have a vested interest in your research on Hogwarts, Dr. Finnegan," Miss Weasley answered in a business-like tone. "You're not the only one with family possibly buried with the ancient stones."

"Stones which, according to Bones, could not be taken apart, the magic being too deep within them," the archaeologist replied. "If there's nothing else, Miss Weasley, I have some explaining to do to my superior, who no doubt has heard of my failure to extract more financial support."

Miss Weasley waved her hand. "Money given to Dr. Lee would've been wasted on superfluous 'further research into the matter'. I'm here, Dr. Finnegan, to fund _you_ and _your_ efforts to discover Hogwarts' final resting place."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Miss Weasley," he began after finding his voice again. "You do realize that Hogwarts was an _Unplottable building_? That the only reason we know it was even in Scotland was because of the abandoned village of Hogsmeade where most of the earliest records were found?"

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that fact. And I also know you're about to raise objections about my slur on Dr. Lee's archaeological methods. To put it bluntly, I don't trust your project leader with something as monumental as this."

"Miss Weasley, I…"

The woman set a glare on him that could have melted titanium. "If you don't want your own dig, then I suppose I should…"

"No!" Morgan's mind threat-assessed the situation. "Just…let me get this straight. You want _me_, a relatively new face in wizarding archaeology, to search for Hogwarts _without a senior archaeologist to make sure I'm going about it correctly?_ Miss Weasley, this is unheard of."

"To put it lightly, Dr. Finnegan, yes, it is," she replied with a smile. "Like I mentioned before, Hogwarts holds more than historical value for you and me; there's a possibility of finding out what happened to our _relatives_.

"Besides, I'd much rather share my family library with someone who won't blab about it to the highest bidder."

Morgan blinked. "Library?"

"Yes, my family has an extensive library. Judging from our family records, we wouldn't have been known for such a thing five centuries ago, but just as our wealth has increased, so has our appreciation for _old_ things." Miss Weasley smiled. "Did you know that Ireland won the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, even though the Bulgarian Seeker caught the Snitch?"

Snitch? Quidditch? _What the hell is she…oh. My. God._ Morgan cleared his throat, trying to suppress the lump forming at its base.

"Did you say _1994_!"

"Did I mention my family secretly kept records and books from pre-Upheaval? Oh, how silly of me!"

* * *

Years later, Morgan would admit to having signed on to Miss Weasley's certain-suicide-exploit simply to examine the texts she claimed her family had stored.

During supper that first evening, Miss Weasley told Morgan about her direct ancestor, Bill Weasley, who had been a member of an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. Out of seven siblings, Bill was the oldest and the only one to survive a great event known simply as the 'Second War'; Charlie and Percy had been killed in a bloody battle in 1996, while the twins, Fred and George, died in November of 1997. There had been a younger brother, Ron (for whom Bill's eldest child was named), and an only sister, Ginevra (for whom Miss Weasley herself was named); both teenagers had been within Hogwarts when the castle disappeared.

Morgan found that Miss Weasley was extremely well-versed in her family history and knew that particular section of the library like the back of her hand.

"Are there any journals left from the time before 1997?" he inquired over dessert, his mind still reeling from the incredible tale his hostess had been spinning. Miss Weasley shook her head.

"The Weasley men from that time period were not exactly _thinkers_, Dr. Finnegan," she explained. "Bill was a curse-breaker; Charlie became a dragon-handler. Percy had disowned himself in 1995, due to some terrible misunderstandings between the Minister of Magic and Albus Dumbledore."

"Who was that last one?"

"Only the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had," intoned Miss Weasley reverently. "He tried to convince the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, of the danger Lord Voldemort's rebirth presented, but Fudge thought Dumbledore and Harry Potter were crackpots…"

Morgan flashed his hands. "Whoa, time-out, Miss Weasley…"

"Please, call me Hermi."

"Excuse me?"

She laughed. "My middle name, Hermione. Ginevra becomes confusing when you have a mysteriously missing ancestor to debate about at home."

"Right—call me Morgan. Now, who exactly are you talking about? I mean, who exactly were Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter?"

Hermi's graceful features saddened minutely. "Lord Voldemort was the foulest wizard to walk this earth," she stated. "Many wizards and Muggles alike were killed and tortured at his whim. He commanded a force known as the Death Eaters and was so feared, no one spoke his name."

"Then how did they talk about him?"

"Everyone except his followers referred to him as 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'."

Morgan chuckled. "That must've gotten confusing after a while."

"It's no laughing matter, Morgan," Hermi replied. "The _terror_ even those titles inspired in people during the late 1970s…oh, you have no idea. You could trust no one; families and friends were torn apart by death and betrayal…but on Halloween of 1981, Lord Voldemort visited the house of James and Lily Potter. He murdered them both and moved to bestow the same killing curse on their 15-month old son, Harry. The curse, however, rebounded on the baby, effectively tearing Voldemort's soul from his body; and a mere scar was left on Harry's forehead.

"Now we skip past several years, and it is June of 1995. Voldemort reclaims a mortal body, using the unwillingly-given blood of his marked equal, a fourteen-year-old Harry. The following summer, Dumbledore reveals something to the boy which shatters his world: that neither Harry nor Voldemort can die while the other still lives. You see, a fifteen-year-old now realizes that it's either him or the bad guy—there's a possibility he won't be able to save the world again, a possibility his dreams and ambitions are a waste of time."

Morgan was spell-bound by Hermi's narrative.

"This boy becomes desperate—there are so many expectations of him. The entire wizarding _world_ hinges on his victory or defeat. So he trains, and studies, and slowly loses his sanity along with his sense of pure right and pure wrong.

"Sometime during the end of his seventh year, Voldemort attacked Hogwarts. That very morning, the castle which had stood for centuries prior to this invasion vanishes, along with all its students, most of the faculty, _its slightly insane Savior and the Dark Lord_.

"Now, can you sit there and tell me you simply want the 'wealth of information' Hogwarts housed?"

Morgan could not.

"Be ready by Friday, Morgan. My people will gather a team of assistants for you, and all the necessary equipment. We will Portkey to the excavated site of Hogsmeade at 7:30 AM. Do not inform Dr. Lee or any other archaeologist we have not approved."

Hermi smiled again, cheerfulness filling her face at the sight of his stupor. "Don't worry about your pay check, either. Everything will be taken care of. Would you like me to call my driver for you? It's only midnight, he won't mind."

* * *

End Chapter One 


	3. In Which the First Discovery is Made

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

* * *

Morgan scanned the list of assistants Hermi had given him only moments before. He raised his eyebrows as (yet another) wave of shock crashed over him. Not only had she managed to find some of the brightest up-and-comings in the archaeological world to work under him, Hermi had single-handedly stolen the best from every major dig in the wizarding world. Techs and field-workers from his previous dig with Dr. Lee were named, a few specialized exceptional students from Cambridge…

"No linguists, though," Hermi said as she chuckled at his expressions. "Our English hasn't changed much over five hundred years, surprisingly, except for some minor slang. A few of the younger ones will be able to recognize runes if it comes down to that."

"Hermi," began Morgan. "I'm impressed, and so _very_ pleased. But why _these_ people?" Her quizzical glance spurred him onward. "Some of these people have very old names. For example, the newly graduated Dr. Chang was stolen from his first dig as a Ph.D."

"Chang isn't that uncommon a name."

"Mockridge mentions a 'Cho Chang' in his 2050 review—an elderly lady who funded some of the last major searches for the missing castle."

Hermi simply poured two cups of tea.

"And here's a young graduate by the name of Wood—a name also mentioned in the 2050 review. Oliver Wood supposedly tried to restart interest in the game of Quidditch before giving up in 2045. Andrea Wood has quite the love for quodpot, I hear."

The woman nodded approvingly. "You did your homework, I see. Now maybe I'll have someone interested in playing a game of Quidditch with me. Quodpot is so dull," Hermi said. "Fine, Morgan, I'll tell you. All of these people have old names because they come from _old_ families."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Yes, I read all about 'purebloods' in your library. Such a thing isn't possible anymore. Wizardkind has become so integrated with the Muggle world it's a wonder they still remain ignorant to our existence."

"Don't be thick, Morgan," she replied delicately. "My family has existed for well over a thousand years now. As you asserted yourself only minutes ago, the list contains all old names. You have an old name, for Merlin's sake."

He had only known her for four days and already he hated it when she used archaic invocations.

"Listen Morgan, every one of us on this dig has something, or someone, to find on this exploit. I have a many-times-great uncle and aunt; you have a many-times-great uncle. Andrea Wood's many-times-great grandfather tried to revive a pre-Upheaval sport; Joseph Chang's many-times-great grandmother attempted several times to discover the fate of her old school-mates. In time, you will learn all their stories and come to realize that this has become _personal_."

* * *

At precisely 7:30 am on Friday morning, eleven people separated into two groups and Portkeyed to the site of Old Hogsmeade. Their equipment was already there when they arrived almost instantaneously. Seconds later, the sound of retching could be heard from the woods.

When an inquiry was made by Hermi, a smirking Dinah Parkinson told her, "That would be Xander Clearwater, ma'am. He prefers to travel in the Muggle ways; had bad experiences with Floo, apparition, and apparently can't take Portkeys either."

Hermi sighed sympathetically. "I suppose he won't be our runner then." She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Marcus Bell will have to do."

"Right," Morgan began. "Mr. Jordan, would you set up the tents please? Preferably somewhere close the village, I don't like the look of that forest." He removed his wand from his side holster and summoned a collapsible table. Maps with complicated notations were spread atop it almost haphazardly. "We should explore the village before even attempting to find a walk or roadway. Many of the buildings are partially covered over with weeds and grass so be very careful when walking through this area here" pointing to a spot on one map "and that one over there. We can't be sure if bits of construction have fallen off over the past few years."

"Where exactly does this information come from?" inquired Laura Zabini, looking over the maps closely. "I mean, no definite explanation has been made on what Hogsmeade was besides a wizarding village—there wasn't a speck of dust left in the place when it was discovered fifteen years ago."

Hermi answered her. "My family library contains some pre-Upheaval records—I've brought some of it with me, which I will make readily available to you all before supper."

"Wait a minute," Morgan said, casting a suspicious look at his patron. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"That I will be staying here for the duration of the dig?" finished Hermi with a smile. "Dear me, I meant to tell you! Must've slipped my mind…"

As she was the one paying them, the younger people present merely raised their eyebrows but said nothing. Morgan, on the other hand, was livid. He began to protest but was silenced with a look from Hermi which clearly said, "Later".

"Fine," he groused. "Zabini, you take Flint, Parkinson and Wood with you and try to locate an inn of some sort—perhaps a pub or restaurant. Malfoy, take Bell and Clearwater and start looking for possible cottages, gardens, things like that. I suggest some minor illusion reconstructive charms be used in the shadier side. The area closest to us presently seems a bit more run-down than the area over towards the west side. Dr. Chang, if you will assist me and Miss Weasley with the equipment? We might as well put her to work as she _insists_ on being present."

He received a dirty look but was allowed the luxury of ignoring it.

"I don't see why you insist on using Muggle equipment. Those charms the team at Exeter just developed really do work well."

"I've never tried them, and I don't intend to. I was schooled in both forms of practical archaeology."

"So?"

"So, I find that I prefer these methods."

"What if Dr. Chang disagrees?"

"Please, Miss Weasley, don't drag me into the argument _again_…"

"Quite right, Joseph! Hermi, why don't you go find something archaeological to do like I told you three hours ago when we first started this discussion?"

"And I told _you_, I'm a historian not an archaeologist."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Historians are sophisticated archaeologists."

"Are you saying you have more _class_ than me?"

Joseph inched his way out of the equipment tent, wincing as though his every movement would be taken as an agreement with one or the other of his superiors.

* * *

For four hours, Morgan and Hermi had been at each other's throats. Morgan was desperately trying to annoy his patron enough to make her leave; Hermi was simply trying to frustrate the good doctor into speechlessness (Joseph could tell she was having the most fun).

When Joseph finally made it into open air and breathed deeply of it, he spotted Malfoy, Bell, and Clearwater rushing back to where the camp was located (courtesy of David Jordan).

"Oi!" he called to them. "What'd you find?"

"Apparently the ones who found Hogsmeade didn't examine it too closely, or else stayed within the actual village limits," puffed Marcus Bell. "Look!"

Connor Malfoy held out a thick, folded piece of parchment. Joseph took it curiously, unfolded it completely, but could find no trace of…well, anything really. No ink stains, imprints of words perhaps from a piece atop it…he turned back to the three graduate students with incredulity in his face.

"What exactly does this mean to you?" he asked them calmly. Impatience etched his words.

"We did a test of the parchment itself," Connor charged on. "Two very definite dates appeared over it, the first time it was used and the last."

"And?"

"24th October, 1976 was the first date," said Xander Clearwater. Joseph was suitably surprised.

"What was the second date?"

"7th June, 1998."

* * *

End Chapter Two 


	4. In Which Hermi Makes a Breakthrough

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

* * *

"Tell me again why this is so important?"

They were three days into the dig, and all they had found was the piece of parchment. Hermi was doing a good job of driving Morgan up the wall, though.

"Parchment needs to be charmed to last such a long time," explained Andrea before Morgan went ballistic. "An average piece wouldn't have lasted from 1976 to 1998, and it certainly wouldn't have lasted from 1976 to 2500, without a bit of magical help from the creators. A bookmaker could explain the process easier than me; there are a lot of potions and charms that go into it. I can only presume they did it the same way pre-Upheaval."

"My question to everyone is: how exactly do we have all this knowledge when it had to have been lost during those two years?" Dinah inquired. "Diary entries surviving from Miss Weasley's ancestor, Fleur, absolutely _bemoan_ the loss of countless texts and histories. No offence, Miss Weasley, but your ancestress was a drama queen."

Hermi shook her head. "You can't read too far into what she writes most of the time. It's always been my personal belief that the Ministry saved many of the school texts; they would then loan the books to the early research teams who then created the guidelines for home schooling."

"Conspiracy theory?" chuckled Connor from a corner of the tent. Morgan hid a grin at this.

"I need some air," Andrea groused. "Dinah, let's go see if Marcus is back from London yet." Connor looked down at his watch and sighed.

"My turn to make tea," he said. The three graduate students left the tent. Morgan continued to stare at the parchment, still determined after three days to find something out about it. Hermi shook her head at him but returned to her reading instead of saying anything further.

Two hours and five chapters of _The Year 2000: Wizarding England's Comeback into Power_ (quite possibly the silliest book she'd ever read), Hermi was startled out of her bored stupor by a yelp of excitement.

Morgan had had an epiphany then.

"Have you figured it out?" she asked him.

"No!" replied the archaeologist with a dazed grin on his lips. "But I've finally remembered where I'd read about something like this. Did you ever read a series of books called _Pranks_ when you were younger? They were old children's books, written around 2030."

"Of course I read them!" Hermi said indignantly. "Every self-respecting child takes a peek into those—those characters had the best fun!"

"Yes, yes," Morgan dismissed. "But weren't there seven of them? One for each of their school years?"

"Yes."

"Wasn't Hogwarts supposed to have graduated their students after seven years?"

"Yes, but I'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

Morgan shot her a glare. "Could we go with my thought process for a moment, please? If it's not too much trouble for you? What was the name of the school in the books?"

Hermi furrowed her brow in thought. "It was something ridiculous, like Pigtarts, or…no, it was definitely Pigtarts. I also remember that there were two authors cooperating on the project."

"Hermi, what if those authors were basing it on Hogwarts? What if those four pranksters had existed pre-Upheaval? What if…"

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," interjected Hermi. "What does this have to do with the parchment?"

"Don't you remember?" Morgan asked. "In the sixth book, the four main characters created a map of Pigtarts, which showed every passageway, secret room, password, and _person_ in the school. They created a password to access the map's information and another one to erase it so no one would think it something other than a simple piece of parchment."

Hermi's mouth was gaping wide.

"Do you remember what those passwords were?" demanded Morgan of the heiress. Her mouth snapped shut.

"To be honest, no," she replied. "But we can find out."

She ran from the tent and returned ten minutes later out of breath. "You're going to help me straighten my books after this," she growled. "_Never_ have I lived in such a mess…"

"Then go home," he said absently and ripped the two books from her hands. Morgan thumbed through the book marked _6_ rapidly. "Chapter index…_yes!_ Just a moment…"

Hermi was shaking by the time he stopped flipping pages and began reading a passage desperately. "This is insane," she murmured anxiously. "We don't even know if the authors were just really imaginative. What if we're wrong?"

Morgan didn't answer her. Instead, he grabbed his wand from the table and, with a shaking hand, tapped the parchment once.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he intoned solemnly.

Ink began spreading on the parchment. Words blossomed out from underneath Morgan's wand, and both he and Hermi were struck speechless.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

After staring in complete silence at the greeting, Hermi slowly reached over to unfold the parchment.

It was indeed a map. Rooms and corridors were spread out before them, each marked with a different title: _Charms classroom, Gryffindor Tower, Moaning Myrtle's Toilet_; the names went on and on. The most spectacular feature was not the names of each room, nor was it the passwords to secret hallways which appeared when Morgan tapped on a representation of a hump-backed witch. Oh, no, it was none of these.

It was the dots.

It was the names listed next to each and every dot.

It was the dots…which were frozen in place throughout the entire map.

A map which was labelled _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"I don't believe it," Hermi breathed.

"You have to," answered her companion in a matching tone. "It's here, right in front of us. I don't know who these people were who wrote these stories, but they had to have been there. They _knew_, knew all about Hogwarts and disguised their knowledge with what might have been a little-known story."

"'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,'" she recited. "Those were the nicknames given to the four main characters of the series. They must've been real people. Is it possible that two of them survived the Upheaval and wanted people to remember the good old times?"

Morgan shook his head. "Those books were riddled with what seemed like despair for each character, remember? There were allusions to their fates, as if the authors had known _of_ them, or perhaps met them, and were making these a sort of _in memoriam_."

Hermi glanced at the books lying next to the map. _Gred and Forge Prewett_…

Prewett.

Why did that name seem familiar to her?

* * *

Late that evening, after everyone had had a look at the map and gone to sleep, Hermi was still replacing the books she'd torn off the shelves in the frantic search for her childhood books. Her mind was racing, trying to recall the names of children the map said were still located inside the old castle.

_Hey, Connor, I see a Malfoy here! Lucius…Merlin, I'm glad your family has normal-sounding names now!_

_Laura, there's a green dot named Blaise Zabini right next to a room called 'Slytherin'._

_Yeah, I wonder why those four names keep showing up. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin—maybe the students were divided into dormitories?_

_How were they sorted, and when? Was it some sort of magical test?_

_Miss Weasley, I see a Ron and a Ginny Weasley. Are they relatives of yours?_

_What about this Seamus Finnegan character? I wonder if he looks anything like you, Doc!_

Hermi paused with Mockridge's _A Comprehensive History of the 2200s_ in her fist. _Prewett_.

There weren't any dots labelled 'Prewett' on the map, so who could those authors be? Of course, there was always the possibility of them being graduates of an earlier year, as Cho Chang and Oliver Wood had been. Still, someone who had lived in the times between Voldemort's initial rule and his second coming probably would have been a bit more outspoken about the earlier searches for Hogwarts. _Unless they…no, the books were written circa 2030—they had to have known those characters personally!_

Why she was so convinced on this matter, Hermi wasn't sure. She had been surprised to have found battered old copies of the _Pranks_ series stowed away in the library when she was little (her mother wouldn't allow her to buy them new). The seven volumes had been carefully placed on the top shelf with the family records and diaries dated 2000 and onwards, closer to Ronald Alexander's wife's diary…

_Prewett._

Why did that name continue to haunt her?

* * *

The very next morning found Morgan, Connor Malfoy, Joseph Chang, and Agnes Flint seated around a work table. The Marauder's Map was spread out in full across the surface.

"Look," said Morgan. "There's a passageway located here, leading out into a candy store called Honeydukes. The corridor extends underground and directly into the school."

"It seems like the most likely candidate for checking out," mused Joseph. Morgan nodded in agreement.

"Agnes, take Marcus and Xander with you into Hogsmeade and try to figure out which building most likely housed Honeydukes," ordered Morgan. The young woman nodded and left the tent. "The three of us" he motioned to the other two men "are going to investigate this 'Shrieking Shack'—there's another underground tunnel noted here leading onto the grounds."

"Umm, sir?"

"Yes, Connor?"

"What's a Whomping Willow?"

"…didn't your parents ever teach you Herbology?"

"Malfoys are known for spellcrafting, Doc, not herbal lore."

"Then why are you in magical archaeology?"

"Mum wanted me in a safer profession than my Dad."

"Which was what exactly?"

"Curse-creator, sir. He was one of the best, before he got on the wrong end of a bowel-removing hex."

"She's a smart witch, your mum," murmured Joseph. Connor merely grinned.

* * *

By lunch time, Agnes and her group had yet to discover the location of Honeydukes. Morgan, though disappointed, understood that out of the hundreds of decrepit buildings surrounding them, not one had its store sign intact.

"It's not a complete waste of time, sir," Xander stated. "We still have a good third of the village to go over—we'll be on the lookout for a place with lots of shelves and possibly glass jars."

"It'd be much easier if we were allowed to use memory-echo charms," said Marcus. Morgan shook his head.

"The Ministry forbids those in all the older sits," he replied. "I doubt Miss Weasley could successfully get us an exemption, no matter how influential her family is."

"Have you seen her, sir?" inquired Dinah. "We've been calling her all morning, but she seems to have left the area."

"Maybe she finally took my hint and went home," Morgan said delicately, though he knew (even from only a few days' acquaintance) she wouldn't give up her supervision that easily. Dinah rolled her eyes. "She was up pretty late putting away her books," he continued seriously. "Perhaps she went home to retrieve some other texts she thought might be useful after reviewing what we had here."

"Maybe," said Dinah. "But don't you think she'd let us know, even if she is our patron? She's been more like one of the team and less like the rich brat you think she is."

"Dinah?"

"Yes, Doc?"

"Go research something."

"…Sure thing."

Morgan wondered how her previous superiors had dealt with her attitude, but this method seemed to work.

"We still haven't found that passage to the grounds, Morgan," Joseph reminded the other archaeologist after the prissy graduate had gone. "The shack seems very unstable—it'd be extremely dangerous to try and explore it without the use of magic."

Morgan rubbed his face and sighed. "I hate the Ministry's stupid laws on digs," he complained. "Really, what harm could a simple structure-strengthening charm do to a building?"

"For one, it could disrupt the magic surrounding the area and inadvertently cause a breakdown of the spell holding said structure up in the first place," came a voice from behind them. Hermi sat down next to Joseph and yawned. "And who knows what casting spells on millennia-old buildings could wake up? Ghosts may not be visible now, but the magic could allow them to materialize."

"Nonsense," Morgan sniffed. "Ghosts haven't been seen in centuries. Modern magic simply doesn't allow for that phenomenon to occur nowadays. And where have you been?"

"Don't be a skeptic, Morgan, it doesn't become you," snapped Hermi. "And I've been to my house and to the Ministry."

"Is something wrong?" asked Joseph, who watched Agnes, Marcus, and Xander quietly enter the village to finish their sweep. Hermi shook her head.

"Everything's fine," she replied. "I just had to figure out where I'd seen the surname 'Prewett' before."

"Those authors' last name?" Morgan was puzzled. "Why is that so important?"

"Because the Prewetts were a very old wizarding family pre-Upheaval," explained Hermi with another yawn. "The last of them were killed off during Voldemort's initial reign of terror, except for one."

"And you just had to find this out for…what reason?"

"The only one left alive was a Molly Prewett—she was married to Arthur Weasley, father of my direct ancestor, Bill Weasley."

Joseph and Morgan exchanged looks.

"Are we supposed to be impressed?" Morgan asked crossly. Hermi scowled at him.

"You're supposed to be intelligent, Dr. Finnegan," she said. "There shouldn't have been any Prewetts left to survive into the third millennium, yet there were _two_ of them. How, and why?"

"Have you considered the possibility of them being Muggle-born?" inquired Joseph.

"No—they _knew_ their characters personally, they had to have!" insisted Hermi. "And they wouldn't have even known _of_ them if they were born Muggle because the books were written circa 2030—the characters of _Pranks_ lived during the 1970s."

The two archaeologists cast disbelieving looks at her.

"As interesting as this is," began Morgan, "it doesn't have much to do with what we're working towards right now. Why don't you go back to your books while Joseph and I find Connor and finish exploring the Shrieking Shack without getting killed?"

Hermi huffed and ran off to her tent.

"Let's go, Joseph," the older man said. "Something tells me Hermi has begun an entirely different quest than the one she originally started out on. We should try picking up the pieces of the first while she's still funding us."

* * *

End Chapter Three 


	5. In Which Truth Prevails Against Mystery

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask permission before using them.

**AN**: WOW. I am completely overwhelmed from the responses I got for chapter three! I am also way happy—so happy that I'll let you all get on with the story! Thank you for all your kind words and praise—I'm not quite sure I deserve it, but thank you.

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

Morgan had never heard so many curses against the Ministry uttered in his whole life as he had in that single afternoon—and he agreed with all of them.

The Department for Regulating Damage Done to Historical Sites had opened a mere ten years ago, while archaeology in the wizarding world had existed as long as it had in the Muggle world, but it had created more havoc than most of the Ministry departments combined. Well, to the archaeologist it had anyway…

Abandoned sites such as Hogsmeade were a rarity in wizarding England, so naturally everyone wanted to keep it as intact as possible. Spells any more complicated than _Lumos_ were forbidden within ten meters of a site's outer rim for fear of disrupting whatever magical force field was holding the site either together or in one place. (Morgan and Joseph both believed the Ministry simply didn't want people relocating from their semi-Muggle communities to all-wizarding villages—it might cause too much suspicion.)

But the question remained: why was Hogsmeade abandoned in the first place?

Connor, being the lightest of the three men, had been volunteered by his superiors to explore the more decrepit parts of the Shrieking Shack. A grimace was etched into his aristocratic features as he walked across several bits of rotted flooring.

"What exactly are we looking for?" called the graduate student.

"An underground tunnel," came the muffled reply.

"So, if I fall through the floor and find it, do I get credit at Cambridge?" Connor muttered under his breath. A loud snap echoed from another part of the house, followed by words which don't bear repeating.

"Bloody fucking Ministry," fumed the voice of Morgan. "I suppose they're having a good laugh over this—they probably think it's good joke, blaming us for things ruined because we have to explore without structure-strengthening spells…"

Connor's chuckle was trapped in his throat, however, because the floor suddenly went out from under him. He landed on his back in soft dirt and spent the next few seconds attempting to retrieve his breath.

"Uhh, sirs?" he yelled out again. "I think I found your tunnel."

* * *

_I should be helping Morgan and the graduate students, not trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle!_

But the discoveries she had made in the morning required her strict attention and focus.

The Ministry had always allowed her family a great deal of deference, preferring to leave the Weasley clan to their own devices than to butt heads and lose as they had in the past. As such, Hermi had lived a life free of its influences—mainly the ones placed on genealogy. Her great aunts and uncles had sat on the sidelines of the Erasing done in 2432 with auras of smugness as old families like the Malfoys lost the last two hundred years of family records. Throughout the five centuries post-Upheaval, the Weasleys remained on top, enjoying the security of identity when the Ministry forced everyone else to start all over again.

Great Aunt Eva had impressed upon Hermi the importance of keeping tabs on the old families. It was she who had thwarted Uncle Lenny's attempts to purge the library of non-Weasley records.

_"The old ones shall always be there," she had said firmly, referring to the old families. "They shall always be beside us in status. And though they forget, _we_ are not allowed to. When the time comes, they shall come to us for their identity; we must be ready to return it to them."_

Her Great Aunt Eva had been a formidable woman.

This was why Hermi was thrown into confusion. Suddenly, a long-supposed murdered side of the family reappeared. Of course, it was almost five centuries too late, but she had to know.

_Molly Prewett Weasley was the mother of seven children_, Hermi mentally recounted. _Bill was the eldest and the one who continued our line. Charlie died to protect his mother. Percy disowned himself and was killed by the Dark Lord. Fred and George died_—disappeared?—_in 1997, right before Hogwarts vanished. Ronald and Ginevra were within the castle when it happened, seventh and sixth year students respectively…_

_Gred and Forge Prewett_.

Fred and George Weasley.

It didn't make any sense, but it was all there. The Weasleys were quite possibly the only ones who recalled their Prewett mother, and it was never confirmed just how the twins were killed. But their older brother Bill had still been alive in 2030—why hadn't he acknowledged them?

Hermi was certain the authors of _Pranks_ were her many-times great uncles now. Everything fit, at least in her mind. Finding out if they had ever married and had children wasn't her next priority, however.

Next on the list:

_Who were the Marauders and why were they important enough to Fred and George for them to have written books on them?_

Hermi sighed and flopped down into the nearest chair. A warm breeze entered the tent and distracted her for a moment. Morgan, Joseph, and Connor were still in the Shrieking Shack. She snorted. _Hope their having fun!_

"Miss Weasley!"

Agnes and Dinah literally tripped over themselves trying to get into the older woman's tent. Hermi raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you two ladies?" she asked with a grin on her face. Dinah recovered from her fall first.

"Agnes found Honeydukes, ma'am!" she said hurriedly. "We need to ask you or Dr. Finnegan if we can take the Map and get permission to explore the tunnel further—you were the closest one to us."

"The Map? I think Morgan has it with him; they're in the Shack still, though…"

A thought hit her with the force of a Cruciatus curse.

"The _Shack_ and the _Map_ and _Honeydukes_!" she cried. Agnes and Dinah stared at her incredulously. "_Oh_, it's been there since 2030 and no one thought to _look_ for it! Gah, we've been wasting so much _time_!"

And with that, Hermi ran off towards the Shrieking Shack, leaving behind two very bewildered young graduate students.

* * *

Morgan peered over the edge. "Are you alright, Connor?"

"Oh, I'm fine," came the sarcastic reply. "Really, I'm sure St. Mungo's will be able to remove the log I have stuck in my back…"

Joseph and the other man exchanged significant glances. "We might as well join him," said the younger doctor. "You have the Map, right?"

"I think we should let the others know what's up first," Morgan replied. "If we've found the way into Hogwarts, everyone should be here."

"MORGAN!"

He winced. "Damn, I thought she'd go home…Hermi, be careful of the rotted wood! It's unsafe in here."

The woman rushed into the room, completely disregarding his warnings. "There's something we need to talk about, NOW, and…good Lord, Connor, are you alright?"

The young Malfoy could be heard sighing. "Yes, yes, I'll be fine once I get out of here."

"Oh, splendid. As I was saying, I've made a discovery."

Morgan scowled. "If it's anything remotely having to do with this morning's discovery, I don't want to hear it."

"You idiot, the whole thing interlocks! Agnes and the others found the Honeydukes passage and came back asking for the Map and suddenly it all dawned on me how stupid we'd been and…"

"Breathe, Hermi!" laughed Joseph. "And get to the point." She glared at him but slowed down considerably.

"Like I was trying to tell you this morning, Gred and Forge Prewett don't really exist. In reality, they were Fred and George _Weasley_—my ancestor Bill's younger twin brothers."

Morgan shook his head. "The ones you say died in 1997?"

"But that was _all_ that was said. What if they simply disappeared? Or maybe they were disgraced, or something, but I'm sure of this: they wrote the seven _Pranks_ books and left clues on how to find Hogwarts!"

Even Connor was tipping his head back to stare in disbelief at her. Joseph's jaw seemed to be unhinged. Morgan, on the other hand, began to laugh.

"You can't be serious!" he cried. "If they really left clues in the books, wouldn't someone, in _five centuries_, have picked up on them?"

"You don't understand," snapped Hermi back at him. "They wrote in a time when Hogsmeade was still thriving, or at least still fresh in people's memories. They assumed that anyone who read them would know that the village of Pigsbrew was based on their childhood haunts. Why do you think the books weren't in print from 2049, the year the last search took place in, until almost 2200?"

"Hermi," Joseph interrupted. "The only people who have the ability to stop printing such a popular series would have been…"

"The _Ministry_," Morgan breathed. He was certainly not laughing now.

"They _liked_ the books," hypothesized Hermi wildly. She was pacing back and forth now. "But so did everyone else. They stopped reprinting the books until anyone who would've had memories of pre-Upheaval events was dead; that way, no one could recall possible parallel memories—because by 2200, Hogsmeade must have been completely deserted. It was gone by…well, no one knows the exact year."

"2000."

"Excuse me?"

Morgan's face was set, features hardened by the shadows playing across it. The other three were astonished.

"It was the year 2000. Wouldn't you think it'd take a period of two years to educate pure-blooded wizards and witches in Muggle customs and then relocate them all?"

* * *

End Chapter Four 


	6. In Which Ancient Things Enter Modern Sig...

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN**: I know I said I wouldn't be answering reviews, but this one I got for chapter four NEEDS to be responded to!  
**Praesul femella wrote:** This is getting interesting. But I realized something the other day. How is there a Malfoy? Draco is an only child (we know this b/c of the Black family tree in OotP), and he was inside of the castle (he had to be, since he was still a student). So unless Draco had a much younger cousin on his father's side, or something along those lines, and Malfoy character is plausible. I don't mind the little slip-up, I'm just commenting.  
**My response**: THANK YOU! I've been waiting for someone to say something…I so just pulled a J.K.R. on all of you readers! If I may call everyone's attention to chapter three, I believe there was a bit of a hint about the Malfoy line during Hermi's recap of the team's reactions to the Map.  
I think Draco's probability of being inside the castle during the final hours is about to be called into question… (Misora now performs a smug little happy dance around her office chair) HAH!

On with the story!

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

It made so much sense to everyone it was _painful_. One could practically feel the tension in the air, the intelligent people slapping their foreheads in a collective cry of "duh!"

Two years in which countless thousands of witches and wizards were forced to adapt to the customs of a magic-oblivious Muggles. Two years in which wizards and witches were forced to move into semi-Muggle neighborhoods.

The Ministry of Magic, for all its blundering and stupidity, was _brilliant_.

No one in the little group of archaeologists was condoning its actions; oh, no! This revelation merely brought opinion of said organization to a new, rock-bottom low, a place in which the Ministry had never been before. The transition was simply a stroke of evil genius on its part.

"Honestly," Andrea had said. "To make all those people change their entire lifestyle so soon after losing their _children_…it was probably mental torture!"

"Actually, it makes sense when you think about it," replied David. "They _had_ just lost their kids; wouldn't you want to leave the world that had taken them away?"

Even Hermi could not deny the signs. "I glanced at some very old Ministry records while I was there last night," she had mentioned to Morgan after the group broke up. "Apparently there _was_ a slightly harsher push on the students of Hogwarts to take up a class they called 'Muggle Studies'. Perhaps they had been planning a shift for years; the disappearance of the school simply hastened the date."

* * *

Morgan had insisted that, instead of trying to enter either one of the tunnels that evening, the team have supper and get a good night's rest.

It seemed he was having trouble following his own advice; hence the presence of Hermi in his and Joseph's sleeping tent.

"Are we sure we should do this?" inquired Hermi. Morgan shot her a puzzled glance.

"You're the one who convinced me," he replied. "How can you be having second thoughts when we've nearly accomplished our objective?"

"I'm not saying we shouldn't enter the school," his patron said. "If we can, that is. All I want to know is this: do you think the _world_ is ready for what we've already uncovered? The Ministry cover-up and what really happened during those two un-recorded years? If we get inside the castle, should we hide our findings until wizarding England deals with what happened to our original way of life?"

"I think," Joseph began slowly, "that the world needs all the truths at the same time. It's unfair for them to get half-truths when that's what they've been getting for the past five hundred years."

"I quite agree with you," Morgan stated. Hermi bit her lip. "Besides," he continued, "we've got the after part mostly sorted out. Why don't we find the before part and give it to the world in sequential order?"

The woman agreed reluctantly. "I've some sleeping draught, if you want it," she said to the two men. "I know I won't sleep without it now."

They both accepted.

* * *

The morning could not have dawned more slowly than it did. Five o'clock found Morgan pacing around his tent while Joseph sat calmly and drank his third cup of tea. By six, breakfast had been served, eaten, and cleaned up after. At exactly seven, Morgan called the team together.

"We're going to use the tunnel under Honeydukes," he stated. "Two people will go through first. If everything is clear and stable to the end, one person will return and we will all go through. If it's not, we'll try the tunnel to the grounds. David and Laura, you'll be the first group."

Half an hour later, the two graduate students climbed back into the cellar under Honeydukes covered in bits of earth.

"It began to collapse as we were maybe three-quarters through," panted Laura. "We ran the whole way back. I'd say it's completely caved by now."

Morgan and Hermi exchanged looks. "Alright," Hermi sighed. "Nice try, you two. Why don't you go get cleaned up a bit?"

"Meet us at the Shack," Morgan called to them as they jogged to their tents. "The rest of you, follow us."

It was unnaturally hot at eight o'clock. "Unbelievable," Joseph huffed as he helped Dinah and Andrea up the last few steps into the ramshackle house. They were joined by David and Laura a few moments later.

"Okay, people!" began their leader. "I'm going to go through this time with Connor—try not to move around much, as the floor was weakened by his little tumble yesterday. Ready, Malfoy?"

Morgan could not stop the anxiety which crept into his stomach as he walked along the dark tunnel. The _Lumos_ spell barely penetrated the inky blackness. Dirt periodically fell atop their heads.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Connor?"

"I think we're about to have a problem."

And so they did. Before them and behind them, the tunnel suddenly gave way and crumbled like ashes. Morgan and Connor both stumbled and coughed violently.

"Fuck!" cursed the Malfoy. "_Now_ what do we do?"

"We stay calm!" Morgan snapped at him. The younger man turned silent while Morgan tried to think a way around the Ministry's ban on spells at archaeological sites.

"Sir?"

"Not now, Connor."

"But sir…"

"Malfoy, I'm trying to think!"

"I _know_ that, but this is…"

"MALFOY!"

"The scenery's not right!"

Morgan turned in the general direction of Connor's voice—there was a patch of light beaming down into the collapsed tunnel behind them. The archaeologist laughed.

"Why didn't you say something before?" he chuckled. Connor shook his head good-naturedly but continued to motion wildly to the opening.

"A breeze is coming through," he stated. "There wasn't a breeze within a kilometre of us when we first came inside. It's also quite a bit cloudier out there…"

"What if I gave you a hand up, then?" suggested Morgan. "You really do look a sight lighter than me."

Very carefully, Morgan hoisted Connor through the opening. None of the earth shifted any more.

"Alright, Connor? Now give me a hand…"

Wordlessly, the other man complied. It took a bit longer for Morgan to make it out. "Well?" he asked once breathing fresh air once again. "What do we have…Oh my god."

"That's what I said."

* * *

"Are you sure it's completely blocked?"

"No, because light gets eaten up down here. Perhaps if you all joined me, we could make some headway?"

Hermi's acerbic request caught the attention of the rest of the group. As a group, they journeyed down the tunnel to where it had collapsed a few minutes ago. The collective lights made it much easier to see the damage.

"I really hate the Ministry," muttered Marcus. "I suppose the Reductor Curse wouldn't do much anyway—this stuff's loose."

Hermi was taking advantage of the brighter light so she could examine the earthy ceiling. "I think the top isn't all that thick," she mentioned. "I can see the ends of grass roots. A Reductor Curse above us might be useful."

"But we _can't_," Dinah whined. "It's forbidden by the Ministry; you know that!"

"Presently, I don't give a flying fuck about Ministry mandates," Hermi flippantly rejoined. "All of you stand back. Clear? Good. _Reducto!_"

The ceiling shattered, and cloudy daylight flooded where they stood. Morgan's and Connor's backs met their gazes. Hermi and the others began climbing up the mound of dirt and grass to join them.

"There you two are!" she said. "We were hoping you weren't covered by the…oh my god!"

"That's what we said."

There, before the tiny group of archaeologists, stood the most beautiful castle they had ever seen. Towers and turrets flew high above their heads; stained-glass windows sparkled even in the weak sunlight. Light breezes ruffled banners while a mysterious pitch with high-built bleachers and six tall poles with loops at the tops of each one stood aside and alone. The scene was eerily silent, and equally as ghastly as their first impression of Hogsmeade had been.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was found.

* * *

End Chapter Five 


	7. In Which Harry is Vague

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer:** HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN**: Sorry for chapter five being so short. It was one of those 'filler' chapters where it had to be written and it had to be a cliff-hanger—there was simply no avoiding it.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

Looking back on that day, no one could quite remember how they had made to the castle, much less _inside_ of it.

Nevertheless, no one spoke for what seemed like a long period of time. Fear and happiness and anxiety raged in each person: _they had finally found it! What will they find inside it? Is this really what we want to do?_

It was unfair to say that any one person began moving towards the school first. They travelled as one entity, united in their desire to unlock the secrets awaiting them in the school. To speak was unthinkable; to speak would be to shatter the calm, eerie silence around them—but something was wrong.

* * *

"Morgan."

Hermi's voice was low behind him and held a tremor of anticipation and fear in it.

"What is it?" he replied in the same, soft tones.

"Have you noticed it yet?"

"Noticed what?"

"The trees, the clouds, the _weather_…"

He willed her not to speak of it, but she pressed on.

"It's early morning here," she continued. "And the sky over Hogsmeade…it's bright and sunny. There's almost a visible barrier between the weather here and the weather back at our tents."

"We can't do anything about it."

"I'm not saying we should. I'm just adding it to the list of things we need to figure out once we're inside…"

He nodded shortly. The group was finally before what had to be the entrance to the castle. The enormous doors were shut, but the barest glimmer of stone flooring peeked out from a crack between them. Morgan breathed deeply of cool air and stepped forward to grasp the iron handles. A current of _something magical_ assaulted him at his touch but was gone before he could say it actually happened.

He pulled, and the group behind him winced.

But no creaks or groans greeted their ears. The doors swung open easily as though they hadn't been standing for five centuries without use. Hermi and Morgan both breathed sighs of relief, which almost instantaneously caught in their throats.

The stones were pulsating, shooting bursts of energy into stationary figures which Morgan's horrified mind identified as _people_.

"They're still alive," breathed Hermi. "Simply frozen into a single, solitary moment…"

All of them are holding wands, as well," said Morgan, breaking out of his stupor and checking each person. "Dinah, I need you and Marcus to…what the hell?"

All of them, except Hermi, bore similar looks upon their faces, looks which greatly resembled the effects of…

"Obliviated!" cried Hermi. "They've all forgotten…but how? How has this happened? Joseph! Wake up!"

"Lovely day," commented Connor idly. "This meadow is absolutely ideal for a picnic."

"Wonder how we got here," said Andrea, sounding totally unconcerned about finding out the answer to that. "Perhaps it's time to leave, then."

"No!" Morgan and Hermi shouted at the same time, but their companions suddenly disappeared.

"What just happened?" asked Hermi in a very small, frightened tone.

"The castle rejected them."

The woman blinked. That wasn't Morgan's voice.

Slowly, the man and woman turned to look back at the crowd of glowing figures behind them.

A young man, no older than eighteen, stood amidst the unseeing people. He wasn't very tall, had messy black hair, and his vibrant green eyes were framed by a pair of round spectacles. He wore a pair of grey slacks and a white button-down shirt with a red and gold tie. A black robe was draped over his shoulders.

Morgan and Hermi had never seen robes worn outside of proper weddings before. But there was something else about this boy in archaic fashions which unnerved them even further.

They could see right through him. Literally.

* * *

"I'd call for tea, but the house elves are bound to the spell just as the people are."

They were sitting in a very warm and comfortable room, though the flames inside the fireplace did not move. The ghost-like figure had led them here and upon seating them, began making small talk.

"Excuse me," Hermi interrupted politely, "but who are you?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm so used to everyone knowing who I am that I forgot how much time has gone by…Harry Potter, pleasure to meet you. And you two are…?"

"Dr. Morgan Finnegan," answered Morgan reluctantly, recognizing the ghost's name from a story Hermi had told him last week. "Archaeologist." Harry Potter nodded appreciatively.

"I always thought archaeology was fascinating," he said. Turning to Hermi he said, "And you are definitely a Weasley, if I'm not mistaken."

She gasped. "How did you know?"

"It's the hair. And your name is?"

"Ginevra Hermione Weasley, but please call me Hermi."

"Named after Ginny _and _Hermione, eh?" Harry chuckled. "I can't wait till the two of them find out."

"What did you mean when you said the castle rejected our companions?" demanded Morgan. The spectre shook his head.

"It has a habit of doing that," Harry replied. "I suspect it's because they either have blood in them that doesn't care, or they have traitorous blood."

"But their ancestors searched for this castle!" cried Hermi. Harry's grin faded.

"Did they?" he remarked mildly. "They never found it."

"But—Cho Chang! She searched for years…"

"That doesn't mean her descendent _cares_," replied the ghost. He shrugged. "Perhaps he or she did care. The castle doesn't have to have a reason for rejecting people. It might have preferred to have fewer intruders and thought you two were the least likely to cause a big stir."

_Oh, we're going to cause a stir, alright,_ thought Hermi viciously.

"But why Obliviate them?" continued Morgan.

"I can't answer that. I've been stuck inside here for more than half a millennium and still don't understand the way the castle thinks."

Hermi blinked, getting sidetracked for a moment. "It thinks? How can a castle think?"

"It's not just a _castle_." Harry rolled his transparent eyes. "It was created by four of the most powerful beings in wizarding history—they endowed it with many capabilities, one of which being conscious thought. That's how it sorted its students for the first few years—the Hat was the misconceived first choice; it didn't come into use until later."

"Could you stop for a minute?" Morgan asked. The archaeologist could feel a headache coming on. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry blinked, and then realization dawned on his face. "The Ministry wiped out almost all knowledge of Hogwarts, didn't it? Merlin, this must've _really_ hurt them…" The wicked grin on his face startled his two 'guests'.

"I have something of an idea of what you're saying," said Hermi slowly. "Why did the Founders switch to the Sorting Hat though?"

"Salazar Slytherin tricked the school into rejecting Muggle-borns and half-bloods when they entered, much like it did to the others in your group," explained Harry. "Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff decided to bind the castle's thought process to insignificant matters so that it only 'spoke' to people if the need was great enough. Its own special brand of magic was bound also."

"What kind of magic did it have?"

"Earth magic—it's very slow-acting, but _extremely_ powerful and effective. What you saw it the Entrance Hall was the school's magic in the works."  
"Wait—just wait," interrupted Morgan again. "You said three of its creators bound it—am I right?"

Harry smiled. "Yes."

"Then let me ask a dumb question—_how is it working magic now?_"

"I woke it up."

"…excuse me?"

"I said, I woke it up," repeated Harry with the same smile on his face. "It was very grateful to me for doing so."

"I can imagine," Morgan replied in a dazed monotone. Hermi's expression was horrified.

"Why?" asked Hermi.

"I needed to fulfil a prophecy," the ghost said, the smile fading slightly. "And I succeeded, with the help of the castle. But that's all ancient history to you, of course. But you're archaeologists, so I guess you're interested in this stuff. Unfortunately, I have very little time to explain it all. You should be going soon."

"What?" Morgan gasped. "We only just arrived—and what about the people in the school?"

"What about them?"

"We came here to find out what happened to our ancestors," explained Hermi hurriedly, wanting to stall their ghastly host a little longer. "Now that we know they're still alive, or close to it, we'd like to have them back."

The ghost gave her a strange look. "Get them back? I'm not sure that's such a good idea."  
"Why not?" Hermi demanded. "You said you succeeded—the school shouldn't need to imprison them anymore."

"If Hogwarts was to let them go before they were ready, they'd crumble into dust seconds later," replied Harry, as if Hermi and Morgan should have known that fact from the start. "It only started to give them back their life-forces two hundred years ago. It took the same amount of time to do what I'd asked of it."

"Then it should be done!" cried Hermi. Harry frowned at her, and then looked off into the distance as if he were listening to something. His expression

"I shouldn't be here anymore," he stated and began to fade away. "I've said too much to you…the school's not happy with me."

"Wait!" yelled Morgan desperately. "All we want is to free you and the others!"

"I believe you," was the reply he got. "But Hogwarts seems to be losing its patience with you asking questions and such…find the Room of Requirement…I'll be waiting there—we can talk without it interrupting like this."

* * *

_It really is such a beautiful day_, thought Andrea. The other people around her (people she didn't know at all but didn't mind) were walking down a hill to where several tents were pitched neatly in a row. What seemed to be a deserted village stood a little further off.

"This is all my stuff," stated one of the men with a frown on his face. "But I thought I'd left all this in Egypt at my dig…"

"Very odd," agreed one of the young women. Andrea's muddled mind vaguely recognized her but offered no name to join with the face.

"So all of this belongs to us," she said. The others nodded. She reached for her wand and proceeded to shrink and pack all her things wordlessly.

While the unknowns followed her example, Andrea took a moment to look back in the direction they had come from.

A beautiful empty meadow greeted her eyes, and she smiled softly. _Perhaps I'll come back to visit here someday._

The familiar feel of Apparition could not, however, dispel the thought that she'd left something wonderful behind—something that she'd never come close to knowing ever again.

* * *

End Chapter Six 


	8. In Which Morgan Sees Strange Things

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN**: Well, I've successfully gotten rid of the team. One of the earlier reviewers asked if I could clarify which, if any, were truly important to the story, and my answer is: none of them! I created them because I knew Morgan _needed_ a group of people to help him make the discovery. I had Hermi select them because of their surnames—I had the castle reject them because of the fact that their blood simply didn't care.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seven

* * *

A single thought ran through both Hermi and Morgan's minds: _where the hell is the Room of Requirement?_

It was with some unease that the two remaining explorers consulted the Marauder's Map about the matter, each terribly nervous the castle would somehow realize what they were doing before they could accomplish it.

"I don't see it on here," Morgan said with a frown. "Hermi, what if the castle created that image to fool us into leaving?"

"I highly doubt that a castle, even one with conscious thought, could create such a genuine person," she replied. "And why go through the trouble of trying to explain everything to us? If Harry is right, and the castle wants us to stop asking questions, why hasn't it tried to expel us yet?"

Morgan sighed and nodded his head. He didn't understand half of what had happened within the last few hours and so decided it would be best to go along with someone who comprehended a bit more than he.

"Morgan, something's flickering over here on the Map," Hermi said. "It's a room, but it sort of fades for a moment and then reappears."

The archaeologist inspected the place. "It's almost like the place itself isn't fully in the castle," he hypothesized. "Maybe that's what Harry meant when he said we'd be able to speak freely. Which floor is this room on?"

"Seventh—there's a tapestry right across from the entrance. But I've been looking for a dot with Harry's name on it near the room…"

"And have you found it?"

Hermi shook her head. "No. But there's one directly outside the door with the name Hermione Granger. She must be the one I get my middle name from."

Morgan walked over to the portrait door and swung it open. Cautiously looking up and down the corridor, as though the castle might be watching them, he motioned to his companion and stepped out into the hall.

A surge of magical energy nearly paralyzed him the moment his foot connected with the stone. Morgan's gasps of pain choked him until it seemed all the air in his lugs was gone. He could hear Hermi cry out behind him, and he rather idly hoped she had enough sense to stay inside the room.

A voice was loudly proclaiming _something_ into his head, a rather ugly mix of garbled Old English and evil-sounding Latin. Morgan had the vague memory of his mother drilling nouns of the fifth declension into his head as a child, but language had never been his strong point…_And Hermi said we wouldn't need a linguist here…_But once again, pain was shooting through his every limb and muscle with a particular vengeance. He heard the angry voice shouting still, though its volume grew weaker and weaker until his mind finally gave into the enticing darkness…

Hermi could only watch in horror as a foreign magic attacked Morgan's own supply. She didn't dare move to help him in fear that the castle would capture them both, and then where would they be?

_'When I say "go", don't hesitate—run as fast and as hard as you can to the seventh floor. I'll show you the way.'_

The voice belonged to the boy they had just met, Harry. Hermi was reluctant to follow his advice, but her fuddled head asked her to trust the apparition. _Morgan will have to be saved later…_

_'GO, NOW!'_

She ran.

* * *

_This must be what dying feels like._

Morgan wasn't entirely sure how he'd gone from extreme pain to extreme bliss, but he wasn't complaining. It was warm and sunny, wherever he was, and he rather liked it this way.

"Do I know you?"

The archaeologist turned around to face the speaker.

He wasn't very tall, nor was he short. His face was kind and worn from laughter and smiles which must have always been genuine. A mop of light brown hair covered his head and fell into his blue eyes—_Morgan's father's blue eyes_—which glanced curiously at him. Morgan placed him between the ages of fifteen and twenty, at most.

"No," replied the older man with an apologetic tone. The boy shook his head.

"I know your face," he insisted. "It's mine, but older. You can't be my son, since I've been stuck here for ages. Perhaps you're a relative of my brother's?"

"I don't know who you are," Morgan said firmly. "I'd like to know how to get back to Hogwarts. The castle attacked me."

The boy laughed. "The castle doesn't attack people," he chided, much like a grandfather would do to his grandchild. "While Hogwarts is certainly made of magic, it's not capable of hurting its students. It's supposed to protect us, which I reckon is what it's doing right now."

"You—you know about Hogwarts?"

"Of course I do. I'm a student there. But doesn't everyone know about Hogwarts?" The boy's puzzled expression made something inside Morgan flinch.

"What's your name?" inquired the archaeologist.

"Seamus Finnegan, at your service," replied the boy with a small flourish. "I'm a seventh year Gryffindor. And you would be…?"

Morgan opened his mouth to answer, but the words stuck to his throat like mud. "Morgan," he rasped finally. "My name is Morgan Finnegan."

Seamus smiled brightly. "Are you my nephew? Thomas was quite a bit younger than me…"

"No, I'm not your nephew, per se," replied Morgan. "It's been five hundred years since Hogwarts disappeared."

A laugh greeted this statement. Seamus strode closer to his many-times-great nephew and laid a warm hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Hogwarts didn't disappear, Morgan," explained Seamus gently. "Our families _deserted_ it. The castle's been there the entire time, waiting for someone to care enough to return it to its former glory.

"Through the pain of our demise and the Ministry's relocation of wizarding England to Muggle England, our families first came to despise the name of _Hogwarts_, and then to forget it almost entirely."

At Morgan's astonished and puzzled stare, this ancestor of his laughed again and began to lead him across and over a small hill. At the crest, Seamus stopped and spread his hands wide. His descendant's jaw dropped even further.

A very large group of people loitered in the green meadow below the hill. They walked about and talked to each other and laughed the same _older_ laugh which bubbled and burst from deep within Seamus Finnegan. There were children and teens and adults from one side of the valley to the other, and somehow Morgan knew that each and every one of them would tell him the same thing Seamus had just said. But even as he gazed in wonder at them all, Morgan's vision became hazy. The pain pulsed into his muscles again, disorientation overcame his mind, and the green valley and warm sun shifted suddenly like a bad television screen signal in his eyes.

"We're ready to come back, Morgan," said the voice behind him—_Seamus?_ "Tell Harry that from us."

"It's not his decision!" Morgan mumbled. It seemed like the whole crowd laughed at him all together, and he lost all consciousness.

* * *

Hermi wasn't sure why the magical bursts weren't catching her like they had Morgan, but she certainly wasn't complaining. Following the order the strange apparition had said into her mind, the Weasley heiress ran with all her strength; but dodging shimmering tentacles and running up seven flights of moving stairs does tend to wear a person down.

_Seventh floor reached,_ Hermi's mind began gasping even, _the first objective achieved. Now where's that tapestry?_

As though by magic (Hermi inwardly rolled her eyes at the cliché), what appeared to be a sheet of energy rose and fell against the stone wall it hung from in an invisible breeze. The woman breathed a sigh of relief and nearly missed the next surge of magic the castle sent at her. _The door should be directly across from it…_

But the next breath she took caught in her throat.

A young woman, about Harry's age, was frozen in place against the bare walls of the corridor where a door should have been. She was fairly tall, had brown hair that must have needed helping after a shower, and wore what must have been the girls' version of the uniform; the same red and gold crest on Harry's outfit adorned the left shoulder of the black nondescript robes.

It wasn't so much the surprise of finding a trapped person all alone on a little-used floor of magic castle as it was the particularly painful expression frozen onto her eternally young face coupled with the dreadful state of her hands.

Tears (which would have been wet had Hermi dared to touch them) streamed down the young woman's face while red blood peeked through between cut-up fists and rough stone. A perpetual cry of confusion and pain was etched into her lips and eyes, and Hermi felt the desire to finish crying and bleeding for her.

_'You need to move her.'_

_What!_

_'She needs to be moved for you to see the door. The Room of Requirement is no longer a part of the castle, per se, and Hermione's connection to both room and castle cancels out the portal. You must move her.'_

Grimacing, yet knowing what Harry said was true, Hermi moved closer to the girl (_did he say her name was Hermione?_) and reached out a tentative hand to her. The woman shuddered at the warmth found upon skin contact. She closed her eyes and tugged gently—so she didn't see the pretty face turn its look of confusion upon her until the girl spoke.

"Who are you?"

* * *

End Chapter Seven 


	9. In Which Magic Tapestries Crumble

**Means to an End**

By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN**: As of right now, Drusilla is officially my favorite reviewer! Thanks, Dru, for reviewing on behalf of everyone who doesn't!  
And sorry for chapter seven being so short—filler chapters are the worst to write because you know something isn't going to happen unless the little details are taken care of.  
Anywho, onto the next chapter we go!

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

_"Who are you?"_

Hermi, still clutching the arm of the girl before her, went rigid. _She's still alive? How is that possible? Why isn't she like the others downstairs?_

The arm shifted out from her grasp slowly. As the woman opened her eyes, the girl proceeded to wipe her tears with her bloody fists. Blue eyes stared thoughtfully at the older face, awaiting some sort of answer, but Hermi's mouth wouldn't form the words necessary to reply.

"Alright, let's try something easier," the girl continued in a slightly condescending tone. Hermi immediately became indignant. _I'm not dumb!_

"My name is Ginevra Weasley," she stated, her proud tone made slightly less harsh with its rasping quality. "Who are you?"

The girl beamed at her. "Hermione Granger," she replied amiably. "I thought you might be in shock, so a good blow to the pride might…"

"Wait a minute—_me?_ You thought _I'd_ be in shock?" Hermi was flabbergasted. "You've been standing in this exact place for five centuries, and you think _I'm_ in shock?"

"Well—yes. It's not every day you meet someone five hundred-plus years old."

Hermi, though she was a usually a good people-person, was not sure how to deal with Hermione Granger. "How did you know you're five centuries old?"

"You just told me," Miss Granger said calmly. She smiled. "See how much you can learn in just a few seconds conversation?"

_I was named after this witch? Cool!_

"If you're wondering, I woke up because the magic is leaving this particular area," continued Hermione. Hermi blinked.

"The magic is leaving the castle?"

"No, the spell which kept Hogwarts awake all these years is wearing down. The castle had to let me go because it doesn't have the strength to keep us all asleep," explained the girl.

"But Harry said that the Room of Requirement isn't a part of the school anymore," stated a very confused Hermi. A strange emotion flickered over the face of the younger witch.

"I suppose we'll just have to ask him about that," Hermione replied. She turned to the wall where the door should have been.

It was there.

Hermi's jaw dropped. "I don't think I've seen so much natural magic in my entire life," she murmured. Hermione glanced at her and frowned. The older woman could tell there were many questions springing into the girl's mind, but she didn't voice any of them.

Hermione grasped the handle and pushed the door in easily. She motioned for the heiress to enter and then shut the door behind the two. "Exactly as we left it," she said, a slight disapproving tone creeping into her voice. Hermi could see what she was talking about, though she had no idea why the Room should meet with her disapproval.

Large runic letters were etched into the stone floor, black and dead like the markings at Stonehenge. Parchments and books older than the oldest volumes contained in Hermi's family library were strewn atop the heavy wooden tables. Maps were tacked across a portion of the walls, and a large scribbled-over blackboard stood to one side of the room.

But directly across the room from them, sitting peacefully against the wall, was a boy about Hermione's age. He smiled at them in greeting and rose gingerly, as though he'd been sitting for some time in an uncomfortable position.

"I'm glad you made it here safely, Hermi," said Harry. "I wasn't sure if the castle would be satisfied with your friend…"

"Why?"

"It was about to lose its hold on Hermione, so it wanted to disrupt its system as little as possible by taking hold of one other. I believe he's gotten free, so no need to worry…"

"YOU CERTAINLY SHOULD BE WORRIED, HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

A stricken look took hold of the boy's features as Hermione advanced menacingly upon him. "Err, Hermione! Nice to see you—it's been what? Five centuries? You look good!"

Hermione Granger was not buying it. Hermi winced as the girl went full speed into a terrifying rant about _how stupid could you be, pulling a stunt like that, and what about all the younger students—THEY HAVE NO FAMILIES NOW!_

Hermi had to admit—she had a point.

* * *

Seamus' laughter rang in his ears as Morgan blinked his eyes open. He turned all around to see if Hermi was near, but the room through the portrait door was empty as was the corridor. Shaking his head of the last vestiges of confusion, Morgan began jogging towards the staircases. _I need to find that room and tell Harry what Seamus said…_

The castle was silent except for the echoing of his footsteps. No bursts of magical energy tried to reach him, no visions of green valleys or waiting people assailed his vision. Morgan simply walked steadfastly onwards, climbing moving staircase after moving staircase until a full seven flights had been achieved.

_There's a tapestry, Hermi said, across the way from where the door should be. _

In good time, a tapestry was found directly across from a heavy oak door. Morgan hesitated entering the Room; instead, he chose to inspect the woven threads depicting a bloody figure standing unflinchingly on a bloody battlefield…

"Eighth century A.D.," murmured the archaeologist as he moved closer to inspect it. "Or it could be as late as the ninth century—I wonder why the picture's not moving like it should…"

Morgan _ghosted_ his fingers across a small patch of the tapestry as one would do to particularly sensitive bomb circuitry. It didn't matter, however, how lightly his touch graced its surface:

_It crumbled._

In a second it was gone—the only way Morgan knew it had been there was the pile of finely crushed dust along the joining of the wall and the floor. His training in practical archaeology (what to do in a site-contamination situation) made his panic levels skyrocket—_Oh my god, what have I done?_

Without a second thought, Morgan raced across the corridor and threw the heavy door open wide. His panicking brain registered three people standing in the room (Hermi, Harry, and some other girl he didn't know yet) but little else.

"The tapestry," he gasped, "it crumbled to dust—picture wasn't moving like I'd heard they were supposed to, I only wanted to see if it would respond to light stimulus, I didn't meant to ruin it…"

"Morgan!" interrupted Hermi in a firm voice. The two young people threw puzzled glances behind the archaeologist into the hall. "You're talking like a madman, now shut up and calm down!"

But nothing she said would snap him out of his state. Meanwhile, while Hermi tried to talk sense into Morgan, Hermione and Harry had moved past the older couple to stand in the doorway.

"Harry," began Hermione in a quiet undertone. "Is this supposed to happen?"

The boy bit his lip, and Hermione knew she wasn't going to like his answer one bit.

"No," Harry said after a moment's pause. "The castle was only supposed to return to its former state—like it was before I woke it. I suppose I should have been more alarmed—after all, the Room hasn't worked properly at all since the spell began."

"Then how have you survived all this time?" demanded his friend. The Boy-Who-Lived smiled sheepishly.

"I said the Room hasn't worked _properly_, not that it hasn't worked at all," he stated. "I lived in a sort of semi-symbiosis with it for about three centuries, so I suppose my body absorbed the ability to _remain_, if you know what I mean."

"Scarily enough, I do," replied Hermione primly. A thoughtful look crossed her face, and Harry realized he had given her an idea about something. A resounding slap behind them made them turn around to look at the older man and woman again.

Morgan was nursing a reddened cheek on the floor while Hermi stood triumphantly over him.

"You just weren't responding," the heiress replied to his whining.

"I've only known you for a fortnight and you already abuse me," growled Morgan as he regained his footing. He glanced at the younger pair near the door. "What did I do wrong?" he asked guiltily.

Before Harry could reply, his friend spoke.

"_You_ did nothing wrong," she said firmly. "_Harry_ on the other hand, is an absolute idiot."

"Hey! I got rid of Voldemort, didn't I?" cried the young man in question. At Hermione's withering glare he backed down.

"Anyway," continued the young woman. "I believe the magic in the castle is leaking into something, or _someone_, and that's why the tapestry crumbled. We'll just have to put a stop to it, right now."

The other three occupants of the room stared at her in awe.

"How did you come to that conclusion, Miss—err…"

"Hermione Granger, sir," she replied. "And it was what Harry just told me about how he'd been preserved like us without being _frozen_. He needs to cut off the spell—completely."

Harry shot her a dark look. "So now the castle falling apart is my fault?"

"Excuse _me_, Mr. Savior of the World, but who _exactly_ was crazy enough to wake up a magic castle from centuries of sleep and make it do your dirty work _for_ you?"

"What part of 'it's the only way' do you not understand?"

Hermi cleared her throat loudly. "While this is vastly amusing, perhaps we should get started on whatever it takes to stop the castle from completely falling apart? There are several hundred other people still frozen out there."

"Ah yes!" cried Morgan. "Harry, Seamus told me to tell you that they're ready to wake up—you just had to give the word."

Three looks of confusion were now cast upon the archaeologist.

"He told me—really, Hermi, that look is unbecoming—while the castle had me trapped," he explained. The boy blinked and gave a hesitant nod.

"I suppose," Harry began, "that cutting off my connection to the spell will do the trick."

"Yes, but how do we go about that?" murmured Hermi. Harry shrugged.

"It should be simple," he said. "I just have to find the connection and cut off the flow of magic it seems to be pumping into me. Now that you mention it, Hermione, I have felt rather strange since the Room went 'dead'—more powerful, if you will."

"You would," his friend replied promptly. "You've had the single most powerful object feeding you its ancient magic for _centuries_—but I have to admit, you are a bit less dense than you were when we were in school."

"Thank you, I'm sure," was the sarcastic reply. Harry pushed past Morgan and Hermi and sat down amid the runic etchings in the floor. "I'd appreciate it if no one interrupted me," he said. "It might be simple, but it will take a while I imagine."

"We'll go exploring," said Morgan immediately. Hermi nodded her agreement enthusiastically. "Since Hermione here must know the castle well, she can guide us through it."

"And we'll make sure not to touch anything that isn't glowing anymore," added the heiress. "We should keep the damage to a minimum."

The younger girl, however, was biting her lip nervously. "That's another problem we'll have to address," Hermione stated. "How do we return the magic once you stop it flowing into you?"

Harry frowned. "There will be a loose end," he said thoughtfully. "With any luck, the magic will keep flowing, just not into me. It'll search out things that _should_ be magical but are weaker than it—trust me on this."

His friend nodded and motioned to the older two people. "Have fun, Harry."

"What _is_ meditation _but_ fun?"

* * *

End Chapter Eight 


	10. In Which We Have History 102

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer:** HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**As you all know, some authors like to rant a bit about certain reviews they get—I don't normally, but this one particularly made my blood boil.**

**_To antzgr01_: I am sorry if a continual reminder to do something EVERYONE IS ENCOURAGED TO DO ON A REGULAR BASIS BUT DOESN'T annoys you. I don't care if you usually review without being told to—these messages are for the majority of the readers who, LIKE ME, forget to criticize or praise or comment on any story they read. As you may have noticed, if you are still reading this story, I have removed my reminders from the end of each chapter.  
**

Ok, I'm done now. Hope you all enjoy this one.  
_P.S. Neuschwanstein is a castle in Bavaria (southern Germany) upon which Disney based their fairy tale castle._

* * *

Chapter Nine

In all their lives, Hermi and Morgan had never seen something as grand as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_Well,_ thought Hermi, _perhaps Neuschwanstein was grander, but it certainly wasn't magical!_

For _hours_, the three wandered about the castle, the archaeologist and heiress drinking in every word Hermione spoke. It seemed like the girl was a walking history book the way she could recount every room, its use, and the life story of each portrait guarding that room.

"It's a shame," she said as they walked down a third floor corridor, "that the portraits and tapestries can't speak to you right now—they have some fascinating ideas about all sorts of things—but I'm sure you'll want to do further research once the castle is restored."

"Oh, yes!" cried Hermi. "I, for one, cannot _wait_ to examine the texts in the library!"

"Nor can I," Morgan agreed. "Although, Hermi, I'm a little disappointed with this project."

She stared at him.

"Well, you hired an archaeologist," he continued in a mild tone. "But I didn't get to dig up _one_ thing."

She slapped him in the arm. "I don't see why you're complaining," Hermi said, fighting a growing smile. "You're still getting paid for this—and I'm sure the Ministry will be eternally _grateful_."

"Not if it gets out that we know more than we're supposed to," Morgan replied soberly. Hermi blinked and then groaned piteously. Hermione shot them a puzzled look.

"Why?" she asked. "What have you found out? Besides the fact we're still alive, that is."

The two older people exchanged glances.

"Hermione, did you ever come into contact with any Ministry members while you were in school?" inquired Hermi.

"Unfortunately" was the brisk reply. "The Ministry in my time was a 'waste of magical talent', as Harry was fond of saying. The Minister, Cornelius Fudge, was a hypocritical idiot who nearly let Voldemort conquer us by his stupidity."

"Was Voldemort really all that bad?" asked Morgan. Hermione stared at him.

"'All_ that bad?'_ you ask?" she nearly screamed at him. "He _murdered_ people simply because they weren't purebloods! He killed Muggles for fun because they had no idea that magic truly existed! How can you even begin to think he wasn't 'that bad'?"

"We have no public records of that time," Hermi interjected quietly, seeing Morgan's shocked expression. "Three quarters of the people in this time don't know he even existed—some people think Hogwarts is a myth."

Hermione was silent for a few moments. "I suppose," she began, a guilty edge in her voice, "that I overreacted a bit. I'm sorry, Morgan."

"It's okay," replied the man. "I'm sure, if this is the way _you_ reacted, that it must've been hard for everyone else after Hogwarts disappeared to talk about it too."

"If I know the wizarding world, and I'd like to think I do, they _didn't_ talk about it at all," said Hermione bitterly. "Besides, who would they have talked to? From what you've told me, the Ministry relocated the British wizarding community to mostly Muggle towns and cities. It's a wonder we've been able to flourish without anyone noticing."

"No one notices because there's nothing _to_ notice," explained Hermi. "Ministry employees are paid in Muggle currency and work in Muggle buildings; Quidditch was banned in the earliest years after the Upheaval—what we termed your war with Voldemort—and Owl mail is forbidden without a permit which is near impossible to get. Diagon Alley was closed about fifty years ago, but it had been virtually abandoned for a century before that."

The student was horrified. "But how do children get their wands? And where do you buy books and potion supplies and all that?"

"An Ollivanders representative visits the home of the child and custom makes their wand right there," said Morgan. "As for books and the rest, well…catalogues have become the more popular way of ordering all of that. Flourish and Blotts is in London proper as a half-and-half bookstore, but the Ministry is, shall we say, _encouraging_ the owners to close the wizarding part and let the catalogues take over."

"Now that we're talking about it," said Hermi softly, "I suppose this has been happening slowly for centuries."

"What's been going on?" inquired Hermione.

"Well, obviously the Ministry was working on something in between your wars with Voldemort in regards to Muggle relations," the older woman said. "I believe the Muggle studies course was relatively new at the end of the seventies and throughout the eighties, judging from some journals left by Molly Prewett Weasley. I know the Ministry generally tried to host large gatherings of wizards near Muggle sites so that those unused to interacting with Muggles had a chance to see how the other half lived."

"And then," continued Morgan, "presumably during the mid to late nineties, you had the second wave of Voldemort and his followers."

"And in 1998, Hogwarts, its students and faculty, _and Voldemort_ all disappeared," murmured Hermione. "But what happened throughout the rest of 1998 and 1999 until 2000?"  
Morgan and Hermi exchanged glances.

"No one really knows." Hermi shrugged. "All we know is that after 2000, there were no more wizards or witches living together in an exclusive community—even the old pureblood families, or what was left of them, were completely integrated into Muggle society. No move was made to recreate Hogwarts' environment but a seven-year curriculum was devised for home schooling."

"What about Muggle-borns?"

"They're offered private tutoring," said Morgan. "However, you must realize that this is only the case in England—schools like Beauxbatons and the Salem Institute in America are still active. Some of the wealthier magical families choose to send their children away, and this option recently became available to the Muggle-borns, though most decline."

"I see." Hermione was biting her lip, clearly mulling over the wave of information she had just received. After a few minutes of walking silently, Hermi had finally gathered enough courage to satiate the curiosity that had been welling up inside her for hours.

"Hermione," she began, "There's something I've been meaning to ask, but it may seem a little personal because of how close you were to my family."

"I wasn't in love with Ron, if that's what you wanted to know."

Hermi smiled. "No—it's about Fred and George."

The younger girl stopped walking and gave them both a strange look. "What about them?"

"Err—well, there was this series of seven books written around 2030 called _Pranks_ written by Gred and Forge Prewett, and they were about these four students at a wizarding school called Pigtarts and they sort of chronicled their seven years of schooling…that's how we figured out how to use the Marauder's Map…"

Hermione smiled fondly. "Yes, memorializing the Marauders _would_ be the sort of thing they'd do," she stated with satisfaction. "I suppose their joke shop was the initial reason for your family's current affluence; it's good to hear that they did so well for the Weasley name."

"Excuse me?" Hermi blinked. "Family records say that Fred and George both died in 1997!"

"Well, they're quite wrong then," replied Hermione, who began walking down the corridor away from the two others. "It was Bill who died in 1997, along with his wife Fleur."

A sharp thud made Hermione stop walking and glance behind her.

Morgan was kneeling frantically over Hermi, who had fainted dead away after hearing the young woman's statement.

* * *

End Chapter Nine

I'm sorry this chapter was so short---I wasn't quite sure what else to put because anything else would've been too much at once...add in the fact that I haven't updated in quite a while, and here you are!

I also apologize for the lateness. It happens whenever I receive a particularly puzzling review (like the one I ranted about at the beginning). It doesn't mean I'm angry and won't update just to spite people; I simply get irritated and can't get around it. _shrugs _

Oh well, another chapter come and gone...I'd also just like to say that I won't ask you all to review anymore, as some people seem to think everyone can do it without having to be reminded. _shrugs again_ Personally I need constant reminders or else I do forget (a big apology to all the authors I've read and haven't reviewed...eh-heh...)

OK, until chapter ten people!  
Misora

P.S. A happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there!


	11. In Which Lives are at Stake

**Means to an End**  
By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**Azntgr01: I see…_grins_ Sorry I blew up like that!**

**Special thanks go to Tina (for being the 100th reviewer!)---this chapter's dedicated to you!**

**Also, to SongOfRoland, you're very welcome. Some people may not notice, but I keep it consistent for the ones who _do_ care.**

**AN**: Sorry the last chapter was so short, but like I said, anymore would've been awkward to write…and I'm so happy some people were thrown by what Hermione revealed at the very end!  
Be prepared, people, because the worst is yet to come…_evil echoing cackle_

* * *

Chapter Ten

* * *

"Why on earth would she react like that? It's been five hundred years…"

"Her entire family believes that Bill was their direct ancestor—I'd say she has every right to pass out after hearing something of this magnitude."

"Does it really matter that much? I mean, she's alive, isn't she? Her family is still the Weasley family—they just have a different progenitor…"

Contrary to what people told her, the sinking in of shocking information does not wait for the victim to have a clear handle on their surroundings. Hermi groaned inwardly, willing her two companions to continue their conversation and ignore her until the piercing ache filtered out of her head. Unfortunately, a small sound escaped the throat of the heiress and alerted the others.

"Are you alright?" inquired Hermione. Hermi opened her eyes slowly to find two extremely worried countenances over her.

"I'll be fine as soon as strange things stop happening to me," she replied in a surprisingly firm voice. The younger woman stifled a grin.

"That will take some time, I imagine, as we've only just begun our acquaintance. Anyway, I suppose you'd like to hear a bit more about all this?"

Hermi nodded. Morgan reached around her shoulders and lifted her slowly off the cold stones until she was standing. Hermi could feel her knees knocking still, so she gratefully leaned against the man's body.

"To answer your question, Hermione, no, it doesn't matter as much as I thought it would." Hermi frowned. "But it's quite a shock, to be sure. I mean, I have all of Fleur's diaries post-2000, and yet you're telling me she died three years prior to the earliest?"

"Were they written in semi-perfect English?" Hermione asked.

"Why would that matter?" interjected Morgan.

"Because Fleur Delacour-Weasley was a Frenchwoman—she spoke English almost perfectly but could never quite get the hang of writing even the simplest sentences. In fact, any reports we received from her while she and Bill were on missions needed to be charmed so we could read it in English even though it was written entirely in French."

Hermi worried at her bottom lip. "Then unless she was a quick study, it's not her diaries we've preserved for centuries." The younger girl shrugged and motioned for the older two people to continue walking.

"I somehow doubt Fred would have ever settled down permanently, so it must've been George," she continued. "He was in a serious relationship with Alicia Spinnet the last time I saw them."

"But that doesn't explain the misconception her family's been living with for centuries," Morgan stated.

"No," agreed Hermione, "it doesn't. I'm afraid I can't explain, Hermi—perhaps, when this is over, you'll let me take a look at the diaries? There may be some clue in it that only someone who knew them personally would have picked up on."

The older woman could only nod. "It's not like anything's changed," Hermi said after a few moments. "We're still the most influential pureblood family in England, no matter our ancestor. We still have access to banned pre-Upheaval texts and records. Nothing's different, except the identities of the two people we have to thank and revere for ensuring our lineage." Hermione made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat and looked back at the pair behind her.

"I'm glad you're taking it so well…"

"I, on the other hand, have some news none of us will take so well."

The young woman gasped and almost collided with the body which had suddenly appeared in front of her. It was Harry, though he looked absolutely exhausted.

"What's wrong?" Morgan prompted, not liking the grim look the boy was sporting.

"It didn't work," he replied. The other three people gaped at him.

"What exactly do you mean, 'it didn't work'?" demanded Hermione. Harry shook his head.

"I mean _it didn't work_," said the young man angrily. "The connection between me and the castle was meant to be permanent."

"And how did you figure that out?" inquired Hermi.

"The castle told me, and before you say anything, Hermione, the castle wouldn't lie to someone it entrusted its entire power with."

Hermione scowled at him indignantly. "I wasn't going to say that." Her friend's face twisted into a wry grin.

"But our family members are still frozen, or whatever you want to call it," stated Morgan. "What will happen to them?"

"Yes, most of them are still down in the Entrance Hall," Harry said. He gave the older man a hard look. "We can't save them, and even if we could, would you do it?"

Hermi glared at him. "Of course we'd want to save them!" she cried. "They're our _families_, and besides that they're human beings! They deserve a second chance at a life they were cheated out of!"

"I didn't cheat them out of it," Harry replied calmly. "They all knew that associating themselves with me would bring them pain and loss; they've had five hundred years to come to terms with it. By now they've realized coming back would cause _worthless_ pain, which would most likely be created by the fact that they would have to live in a society which they could never understand."

"I agree with Harry," said Hermione softly. Morgan and Hermi fixed their incredulous stares on her. "Not one of these students is a Muggle-born," she continued. "I remember Dumbledore insisting that they all remain with their parents, no matter how old they were."

"But you're Muggle-born!" said Morgan.

"Yes, but I was _involved_ in the war, unlike everyone else," she said. Hermione turned to Harry. "I understand, now, what you meant when you said you and I don't belong in this world." She looked back at the other two. "Only Muggle-born or Muggle-raised students would understand the inner workings of Muggle society and be able to adapt accordingly."

"It has something to do with the necessity of residing in both worlds," continued Harry. "Practicing and expanding our abilities while living with people who neither understand magic nor use it. The pressure to be two-faced does something to a person's psyche after a while." He smiled as if remembering something. "Most Muggle-borns or Muggle-raised witches and wizards would've given up the Muggle world of their families after graduating from Hogwarts."

"While we have," Hermi stated in an understanding tone, "continued building façades and masks for ourselves."

"Oh what a twisted web we weave," murmured Morgan.

Silence gathered in the corridor as the ideas Harry and Hermione were trying to impress upon them sank into Morgan and Hermi.

"So what do we do now?" Hermione asked of Harry. He did not look at her but began walking in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower.

"We say goodbye," he replied shortly. "And then I shut Hogwarts down for good."

Morgan wondered briefly who exactly they wanted to say goodbye to, but then recalled the hundreds of smiling faces in a green meadow, waiting to be saved and returned…

_There has to be another way._

* * *

End Chapter Ten 

Ok people, I know what you're thinking--_Oh my gosh, how can she do that to Hogwarts and everyone? Why is Harry acting like that? AAAAAHHHHH!_

Well, let me just say one thing---IT'S NOT OVER TILL THE FAT LADY SINGS! (Ooo, rhyme!)

Until the next chapter...  
Misora


	12. In Which Voldemort Causes Trouble

**Means to an End**  
By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN**: Ok, so I finally got this chapter out—this particular section had me confused for a while, but I think I did alright with it.  
And I know people are wondering, _how cold-hearted can Harry be?  
_Keep your shirts on.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

* * *

The Entrance Hall was as cold and eerie as it had been mere hours ago. _Perhaps more so_, thought Morgan as a chill raced down his spine, _now that I've actually seen these people 'alive'._ Towards a set of now glittering staircases and through clusters of barely-breathing statues, the archaeologist noticed an especially familiar face, and he felt anguish seep into his heart and mind.

Seamus was frozen mid-wand wave with a determined look carved into his youthful features. Morgan stared at his many-times great uncle for a long time, silently willing him to smile and wink as he had in the meadow; willing Seamus to guide him, to tell him of the _other_ way.

_There is always another way out._

"Morgan?"

Hermi was directly behind him. Harry and Hermione were standing a few meters away, almost entirely outside the castle, with their backs towards the older pair. He sighed at her and turned to look at Seamus one more time.

"There are so many unanswered questions," he heard Hermi say quietly. "And there's something wrong…very wrong."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, deadly sarcasm dripping from each word.

"Did you notice the look he gave her when he told us there was nothing we could do to save these people?" she continued. "They're hiding something from us, I just know it."

"What kind of something?"

"It's a bad something, but that's all I can say for sure."

"When did you become an empath?"

Morgan could feel her scowl burn the back of his back. "Don't be stupid, Finnegan…"

It was like saying the password in front of Ali Baba's secret hideout and having a wall of solid rock open before astonished eyes.

Seamus Finnegan sneezed, and Morgan and Hermi literally fell down from the shock.

A few moments passed without another sound. Hermi, from her spot of the cold stone floor, let a small strangled cry loose from her throat. She began to speak but suddenly found herself with a full head view of Harry. Hermi could tell he was trying to fight a wild grin. The Boy-Who-Lived placed a finger to his lips in a quieting motion, and she knew Hermione was doing the same to Morgan.

With minimal noise, the two teenagers led the older pair to a spot directly outside the grand oak doors. The enormous slabs of wood attempted to close after them, but Hermione froze them with a wave of her wand.

"It's ok to talk now," Harry said, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "Just don't mention the name of anyone inside the castle."

"Why not?" inquired Morgan in the same quiet tone.

Hermione rubbed her face and was staring off into nothing. "You saw what happened when Harry and I were talking about _him_," she said absently.

_She's in mild shock_, thought Hermi, _shock about _that.

"There's something about being removed from the castle that must trigger that effect," stated Harry softly. "I believe the castle has been purposely trying to listen into our conversations."

"But its magic—it's all flowing into you!" said Hermi.

"It has nothing to do with the castle's magic," replied Hermione, snapping out of her stupor. She turned to face her friend. "He knows about that now, I presume."

"Naturally," was the reply. "He's been listening since Morgan and Hermi first arrived. I'm pretty sure it was him who Obliviated their assistants and sent them away; at least _now_ I am. It's one of his specialties."

"_What is going on, exactly?_" demanded Morgan, his face a perfect picture of confusion and indignation.

"I found something out when I was trying to stop the magic flow," explained Harry after a significant glance at Hermione. "Do try to keep your voice to a dull roar, if you don't mind."

"_What_ are you talking about?" Hermi and Morgan whispered in unison.

"Voldemort, of course," said Hermione, as if those words would explain all the mysteries of the universe. "You know, the evil lord who tried to make himself immortal and destroy the peace between Muggles and Wizardkind…"

"It seems that I spectacularly botched everything up," stated Harry calmly. "I, uhh, accidentally helped Voldemort down the road towards his ultimate goal of world domination."

Hermi and Morgan stared at him.

"He won't get there anytime fast, but I may have neglected to monitor what he's been doing these past few centuries and allowed him access to the library."

Their eyes bored flaming holes into his face. Both teens squirmed impatiently within their silence.

"Well," Hermione broke into the silence, "say something! Anything!"

"I—I can see how this is a problem." The hoarse whisper erupted from Morgan's mouth.

"I think I need to hear more before I go off the deep end," Hermi said, sliding down the carved stone wall and settling down on the grass.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and sighed at the same time. "We need to start from what happened before I let the school loose," said Harry. His friend nodded in agreement.

"Before Harry…did what he did," began Hermione, "he mentioned to me that he and I didn't belong in the wizarding world."

"But you're magic-users!" exclaimed Morgan. Hermione smiled at him.

"That was my reaction at first," she continued. "But after a while, it began to make sense to me. Oh, there were five hundred years in between him saying it and me thinking about it, but it does make sense."

"How?" demanded the archaeologist.

"Imagine," Harry said, "that you're a Muggle and you have citizenship in both Germany and China…"

"That's a ridiculous combination, Harry."

"I'm trying to make a point, Hermione. Anyway, you have dual citizenship. Let's say you receive the two visas when you turn eleven, and you start spending six months out of the year in Germany and the other six in China. After a period of time spent in this manner (seven years, perhaps?), you start to get tired of having to move to an entirely different culture every six months; you get weary of having to restart friendships put on hold; all you want is one place to call home.

"But, throughout the past seven years, one of the cultures you've been exposed to has had more of an impact on you than the other. When you're finally given the chance to settle down in one place, it's easy to say 'China' because you prefer lo mein over Wiener schnitzel any day of the week.

"Now, think about Muggle-born children. On their eleventh birthday, the child in question receives an invitation to learn and experience something they've considered unreal for years. Naturally, the excitement of being something special and unique draws them in; and so they accept and leave for Hogwarts, or whatever school into which they've been accepted. Seven years later they are graduated and given a choice: return to the Muggle world, where you must keep everything you've done for the past seven years a secret and you're on your own, or stay in the Wizarding world where everyone can do the same things you can.

"Which would you choose?"

Hermi and Morgan were silent.

"The first thing that came to my mind," said Hermione quietly, "was 'yes! Let me stay and hone my abilities so that I can work with fifty other people who did the same exact thing!' Well, perhaps it wasn't _exactly_ what I thought, but it was very close. When Harry told me we weren't meant for the wizarding world, I believed he meant '_we_' as a collection Muggle-born and/or Muggle-raised group.

"But all he was saying was that _he_ and _I_ weren't meant to stay."

Hermi's face was twisted in confusion. "Why on earth would you think that? Harry's a _Potter_, a pure-blood, of course he's meant to live within _his world_! And Hermione—you're so talented! From what I've read and what I've witnessed, you could topple the Ministry and rebuild it in a day! What could make you think that?"

The two teenagers smiled at her.

"From what you've read and what you've witnessed," said Harry, "could you really imagine Hermione wasting her bravery and talent in a place where remarkable people pop up every century or so? She's too good for that."

"And while Harry _did_ feel more at home at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world, he could never fully give up the world for which his parents fought and died," explained Hermione.

Morgan drank all this in steadily, wondering what this had to do with their current situation.

"Anyway," continued Harry, "I'd always hoped that the two worlds would somehow collide."

"They sort of do," interjected Morgan. "Magic is still kept a secret, but there are no more wizarding communities of any size."

Harry and Hermione exchanged another look. "Not exactly what we were looking forward to, but it's a start," said Hermione cautiously. "But Voldemort was always looking to permanently seal the bridge between the two societies."

"You mean Muggle-borns and Muggle-raised?" inquired Hermi.

"Yes. He believed that Muggle-borns were unworthy of the magic they possessed, and Muggle-raised children were tainted by the deficiencies of Muggle life."

"He must have been a real hoot at the philosophy club socials."

"How many times do we have to tell you to be serious about him?"

"It's not old yet, I'm afraid."

"Whatever. As I was saying, Voldemort decided he was going to rid Wizardkind of its scourge and return glory to the afflicted pure-blooded families," Hermione said. "He murdered hundreds of people until Harry here banished him for a while. He returned fourteen years later and began doing the same things."

"Which leads us to our seventh year," interjected Harry. "When I let the school have its life back."

"You make it sound as if you were organizing a rave," murmured Morgan under his breath.

"How did Voldemort get into the school?" asked Hermi.

"He must've been planning his attack for months beforehand because no one was expecting it," explained Harry. "He entered the wards with his Death Eaters and nearly massacred the student-teacher body in the early morning. I think the teachers, Hermione and I were the only people really awake at the exact moment. The people frozen just inside the Entrance Hall are mostly professors with maybe ten or fifteen older students mixed in with them."

"So once Voldemort was inside the castle you did your little awakening ceremony and froze everything within the wards," concluded Morgan. Harry hesitated, and then nodded.

"That's pretty much it in a nutshell, yes."

"What happened that your evil dark lord is now running amok inside the castle?" the archaeologist inquired sweetly.

"I wasn't paying attention, really," admitted Harry. "I just thought the school was having a bit of fun, throwing things around in the rooms…"

"But it was really Voldemort reading up on things to make his evil just so much more than that?"

"Umm, yes, that's basically it."

"Excellent."

"I thought so too."

Hermione growled deep in her throat. "What Harry was doing, _or not doing_, these past five centuries has very little to do with what we've found out today." Hermi nodded her head.

"I agree," said the heiress. "What exactly did we discover?"

"I discovered that Harry is an idiot and deserves the mess he has to clean up now," stated Morgan.

"I discovered that Hogwarts is going to fall apart in a few hours, literally, and I'm going to have a lot of extra magical energy inside me," said Harry.

"I'd say that's enough to be going on," concluded Hermione. "Now can we please find a way to wake everybody up with these two conditions: a) we do it before the castle crumbles atop them all, and b) without Voldemort realizing what it is we're doing."

"All in a day's work, eh?" muttered Hermi.

"I have to contest the second condition," stated Harry. Three pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on him. "The three of you can wake up everyone from here; Hermione just needs to find a roster of everyone in the castle."

"What about the Death Eaters, Harry?"

"You can leave them out of the list."

"I normally would call that inhumane, but I'll make an exception for them."

"I'm sure I appreciate it. Anyway, while you're calling them out, I'll take care of our old friend Voldemort and try to hold the castle up for as long as possible. Agreed?"

The other three nodded. Harry smiled at them before re-entering the castle.

"Oh," he said over his shoulder to them, "Hermi, when you meet, err, your relatives later, ask _them_ what exactly happened to the twins and everyone. It's quite funny, actually. Have fun!"

* * *

End Chapter Eleven

Again, sorry for the delay! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I don't know when the next one will be up--it depends on when I actually get around to starting it.

Anyway, until next time!  
Misora


	13. In Which an End Comes

Means to an End  
By Musou Misora

Disclaimer: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.

**AN/1: I started reading HBP at 1:20 pm on Saturday, July 16th, and finished at 8:30 pm of the same day. After completing the book, this story is officially AU, since I think we can safely assume there won't be much action at Hogwarts proper in the final installment…**

AN/2: I'm sorry this took so long. I've been trying to get ready for moving into my college dorm this August…  
I hope chapter eleven didn't confuse too many people, but Harry had to be like that for the future of this story…all's well that ends well, I like to say…  
Thank you for your patience, everyone!  
On with the show!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

* * *

"I'm all a-tingle with excitement."

"Methinks you're a-tingle with the magic that's pooled in this entrance way these past five centuries."

"Are you always like this, Hermione? If so, how did you manage to snag two best friends like Harry and Ron Weasley?"

Morgan was awarded with a brilliant smile. "Yes, _lies_ generally _aren't_ a good way to begin a relationship, are they?"

* * *

The library was cool and silent, just the way he remembered it from the days when Hogwarts was known to all as a great school of magic. He remembered the hours he'd spent within its confines, willingly or unwillingly; recalled learning of Nicholas Flamel and his Philosopher's Stone…which brought him back to the task at hand.

"So," Harry began conversationally, "did you mean to lock yourself into the library or was that just dumb luck on your part?"

"Insolent as always, Potter, are we?"  
"Admit it—you love me for it."

Harry casually glanced around the large room and drummed his fingers lightly across a nearby table. "I don't suppose you'd like to show yourself to me?" The villain chuckled.

"What's the point, Potter? You know where I am. Why don't you just strike me down where I stand?"

"Well, that's the thing, now isn't it?" stated Harry. "You're not standing, and I have nothing with which to strike."

"Don't toy with me, boy…"

Harry snorted into the darkness surrounding him. "I don't think I'm a boy anymore, Voldemort…"

A large tome flew through the air at him without warning. With reflexes long out of use, Harry barely managed to dodge the projectile. Before he had a moment to recover, yet another book cut the air dangerously close to him.

"So we've skipped the honeymoon and gone straight to the hurling of blunt objects, eh?" he muttered while diving in between bookcases. _One would think that two great wizards such as us would be immersed in furious spell casting by now…at least he's preoccupied._

But there was always the chance that Voldemort was simply playing with him—he wouldn't be surprised. Harry's mind worked furiously as he began running in pointless circles around the room. _Come on, Potter,_ he thought as a copy of _The Dark Creatures' Guide to Ministry Ethics_ flew past him. _You have the magical energies of the entire school at your beck and call! Surely there's something you can besides run around in the dark…_

He almost struck himself. How dense could he be?

Harry ducked underneath a study table near the center of the room and concentrated _hard_ on the ancient magic around him…

"Where are you, Potter?" Voldemort's voice called out to him. "I can still sense you—you haven't left yet. I have to admit, I am impressed with your endurance so far. Five hundred years of near inactivity, content to let me run wild in a building brimming with unlimited knowledge; I thought you'd lost your edge…"

_Keep talking, you old bastard…_

"But despite your desperate denials, I _do_ know you rather well, Potter. I wonder—what are Miss Granger and those two…beings doing down there?"

Harry gritted his teeth and concentrated _harder_.

"I'll just take a quick look down there—I suppose my body's been perfectly preserved along with all the others…"

_Good luck, Hermione…Hermi…Morgan…I hope this actually works, and doesn't completely blow up in my face later on._

* * *

Using the Map to make the roster had been absolute genius on Hermi's part, Hermione decided. It was quick and easy, and it saved them from making a stupid mistake like destroying yet another tapestry.

"You just wait," declared the student to the older couple. "Hogwarts is absolutely beautiful. I hope the Ministry reopens it…"

Morgan snorted disdainfully. "They'll try to make it into a museum," he stated. At once a dreamy state overcame him. "On second thought, that doesn't sound half-bad…"

The two women shared an amused glance.

"I do feel bad, Morgan," stated Hermi, "because there really wasn't much for an archaeologist to do here…"

"Are you kidding?" He stared up at her from his spot between the grand door posts. "This is the find of the century! Well, five centuries actually…but this is so big! Do you know what this will do for my career, ecstatic as I am to finally meet Seamus?"

Hermi grinned at him. "Fledgling archaeologist feeling coming back to you?"

"I can't help it." He ran a finger down his copy of the list but stopped suddenly. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Morgan?"

"Your family—is there any chance…?"

She smiled sadly at him. "I was the only child of an only child father and a mother whose only brother was estranged from our side of the family. There was some bad blood between him and my maternal grandfather, if I remember correctly. I never met him."

Hermi and Morgan nodded in silence and looked at each other. _She's taking it rather well,_ was their mutual thought, interrupted by a sharp gasp from the younger woman.

"What's wrong?" inquired Hermi immediately. Hermione's face was frozen in shock.

"The library," she whispered, "is gone."  
A very pregnant silence grew around them. The archaeologist and the heiress stared incredulously at the battered parchment Hermione clutched desperately in her shaking fists.

But they were not given an opportunity to wonder any longer. A low rumbling could be heard from somewhere else on the grounds—the sound of crumbling stones trying to fall before their neighbor…

With furious intensity, Hermione moved to the doorway and began screaming the names of her dearest friends and acquaintances at the top of her lungs. The crashing and tumbling of the ancient stones seemed to grow louder and compete with the hysterical Hermione.

Two red-headed teenagers appeared out of thin air and stumbled outside the castle into a heap, followed by the familiar figure of Seamus. Many others awakened right in front of their eyes before Morgan and Hermi shook themselves from their stupor and frantically began checking any names Hermione may have missed.

There were still so many names to call out when the roof of the Entrance Hall simply collapsed. By now, Hermione was in tears, her lips moving to summon Professor Sprout but no sound exiting her mouth. Behind the trio, the twenty-odd persons who had been saved were coming to their senses and joined them in gazing sorrowfully on the pile of rubble which had been Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

All around the silent, shell-shocked mourners, the grass and shrubbery rose up as though a great weight had been lifted from it. The once well-kept grounds of the school went quite suddenly from being locked within the same dawn through five hundred years of unchecked growth.

Sunrises, middays, sunsets and midnights sped by the group of survivors as though Time itself had been released from an icy prison.

Wild forest encroached upon and swallowed and destroyed a once-beloved stadium.

Grey rain began to fall steadily as everything the small group had tried to hold onto was swept away into oblivion.

And each one, no matter how long they'd been locked within the castle, wished fervently that they, too, could follow their last hope for a return to known into the end of all things.

* * *

End Chapter Twelve

Here's everyone's homework: READ HBP! Good stuff, man...

The story is going to end soon...keep reading!  
Misora


	14. In Which a New Era Begins

**Means to an End  
**By Musou Misora

**Disclaimer**: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them. This story is officially AU according to my personal standards, and assumptions I have made about the seventh book.

**AN**: No interlude was written, as you can see, but this makes more sense in my mind than what I was working on a few weeks ago did. I am also pleased to announce that this will be the LAST CHAPTER.  
Yes, you heard me. I thought the end of chapter twelve was a perfect segue for a flash-forward epilogue, don't you? Now READ!

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

_Twenty Years Later…_

The bells of a new school building rang loudly in cheerful yet annoying dissonance up and down the hallways. At the unfamiliar sound, the students mingling outside glanced down to the paper each held in their hands seemingly as a collective body.

"Room 301—isn't that on the second floor?" inquired one small girl to the boy beside her. He shrugged absentmindedly and pulled her arm, and the pair joined the rest of their age group in scurrying up the stairs into the building.

Slowly but surely, the body of students outside the school thinned until there was a small group left. The four girls and two boys shuffled shyly around each other, quietly offering names and other impersonal information. The papers they were holding had no room number or class schedule or teacher information; the only writing on all of them was two very simple words: _wait outside_.

"I wonder what sort of classes we'll be taking," addressed one girl to the other five. "My name's Marguerite Clearwater, by the way; I'm 17, and I've been home-schooled up till now. What about everyone else?"

"Brent Parkinson," spoke up another. "17 and home-schooled, just like you, and I'm willing to bet everyone else here is the same too."

"You'd be right." One of the other girls grinned. "Kate Wood, here at your collective services."

"I'm Allison Kirby," a shy-looking young woman said softly. "This is my twin sister, Sarah."

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," said her mirror image, a little more boldly than her sister.

"My name is Linus Malfoy," stated a pale, blonde young man to Sarah's immediate left. He gestured to the last boy, who stood a little apart from the tiny group. "You look familiar, but I can't place you."

The boy chuckled good-naturedly, dark brown hair wildly shaking with the movement. "Jimmy Weasley, nice to meet all of you."

A comfortable silence fell over them. A light breeze maneuvered itself around them, and, for a short moment, all six young people felt as though something, or someone, was…happy with them.

"Well, that wasn't weird," murmured the Malfoy boy sarcastically. Jimmy and Kate snickered.

"Aren't we supposed to be in classes or something?" Allison wondered out loud. "I mean, that's usually what school _means_…you know, learning things that aren't going to matter in a few months or years."

Brent shook his head. "I don't even know what sort of school this is supposed to _be_," he stated in a hushed tone. His classmates quieted at that.

Marguerite cleared her throat. "No screams from the building, so it's not a massacre…"

"I should hope not," a new voice interjected. Six pairs of eyes turned to stare at the man standing by the entrance gate.

He was a tall, black-haired, youngish-looking man wearing a pair of round spectacles. Vibrant green eyes gazed thoughtfully on the small group, and a semi-smile graced his lips. But the oddest thing about him was…

"Are you a ghost, sir?" inquired Sarah, a little fearfully. His smile grew.

"You could say that," he replied. The man looked at them for a few more minutes, then cocked his head and turned to stare at the new building. "So this is their project, eh? It's…nice."

"You sound a little scornful," Jimmy cut in, his voice for once sharp. The young man took a step back, startled, as the ghost turned his green gaze forcefully on him and him alone.

But he said nothing.

"Good morning, students! I apologize for my lateness."

Again, the six students tore their gazes away from their focus to inspect the newcomer.

"Aunt Hermione!" Jimmy cried. "I had no idea…"

"We did our best to keep it a secret from you," stated the bushy-haired woman with a wink. She glanced at each of them in turn. "I am Hermione Weasley, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please follow me around the back of the building."

Six pairs of eyes blinked in unison as she began walking away. Kate recovered first, and whirled around only to find no ghost standing behind them.

"He's gone," the girl whispered.

Hesitating just a little longer, the six eventually started to walk the same path as their new instructor.

_"This'll be amusing…"_

They heard his voice but did not say a thing.

* * *

**_END_**

_heavy weight is lifted from her shoulders_

FINALLY. I am finished. Done. It's complete. NO MORE. You have no idea how happy this makes me. I can finally rest without feeling guilty about making all of you wait for this very moment.

There will be no sequels. Interpret this epilogue any way you'd like—so NOT my problem anymore. I can't wait to get started on the one-shots I've got prancing around in my head.

It's been real, folks. Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement—I appreciate them more than you know.

Adios, amigos.  
Misora


End file.
